Stupid
by Missy Jade
Summary: [Zenfocus, includes mentions of RK] Months after the birth of her son with Ryan and now married to her baby's father, Kendall lives an empty existence until Josh and Bianca step up and put their beloved sister first. [Dark, angst]
1. Chapter 1

_Summary: What if Kendall would do anything to keep the people she loves happy, never mind what she might want? What if Zach pushed her away and Ryan was all too happy to give her another chance? What if she would sacrifice what she wants to keep her mother happy and do what she was 'supposed' to do? What if this Ryan and Kendall reunion is just a 'detour' on Kendall's way to Zach? What if, in reality, Ryan and Kendall simply aren't meant to be?_

_AN: Came up with this about a month ago and just my personal view on how this 'reunion' for Ryan and Kendall might be just a relationship along the lines of Brooke and Tad, Erica and Travis? What if, in the end, Ryan and Kendall really aren't meant to be and, no matter how much Erica and Ryan might wish it so, it won't just happen? I've never went with something like this before so, if you want me to, I can continue it. I'm working on, like, twelve fics but this one wouldn't leave me alone and I'd like to know if anyone would read something with as much R/K interaction that is in here._

_Give me your honest thoughts and, please, don't panic, this is a Zen story… it's just not nearly as happy and go lucky as LS… no, really, I mean it…_

_**

* * *

Stupid**_

_Night lift up the shades  
let in the brilliant light of morning  
but steady there now  
for I am weak and starving for mercy  
sleep has left me alone  
to carry the weight of unraveling where we went wrong  
it's all I can do to hang on  
to keep me from falling  
into old familiar shoes_

_Love has made me a fool  
it set me on fire and watched as I floundered  
unable to speak  
except to cry out and wait for your answer  
but you come around in your time  
speaking of fabulous places  
create an oasis  
dries up as soon as you're gone  
you leave me here burning  
in this desert without you_

_- Sarah McLachlan, 'Stupid'_

* * *

_Chapter One_

_She had gone back to him as a broken woman, finally fragile in some way that had left her eyes hollow and her laughter dull and her smiles lifeless, and he had kissed her face and lips as he was putting the ring on her finger and then she was saying her new vows and sitting with the smile plastered on her face while her mother raved about how happy she was about the wedding and how sure she was that everything would work out._

_When he told her that he loved her and that he had never meant any of it, not the marriage or any of his words or anything he had ever done since the marriage to hurt her, she smiled and said the same, forgiving him for things that still hurt, that still felt raw inside her, wounds that he refused to acknowledge as anything other than just some mistake she had made._

_She cried after they made love, not out of pain but out of some unspeakable emptiness inside her, facing the wall and biting her knuckle, silent tars streaking her face as he slept at her back, content that she was okay with everything and that the only thing she wanted was him, sated in the understanding that, like her mother said, he was the only one who made her happy._

_He wanted to give her a wedding, wanted her to be happy and smile the way she had that day in front of the castle, with her face beautiful like it had been, the white dress sheathing her form like perfection, before he had done the things he didn't want to talk about with her, didn't want to admit to because that would mean it was his fault too, wouldn't it?_

_They had both made mistakes, tore at each other but he couldn't let that be spoken out loud because that would mean that he was had been wrong too and he didn't want to say it, didn't want the truth of his mistakes to be put into words because that would mean that he was a fool too right?_

_It was easier for him to make it all her fault._

* * *

"You look so beautiful Kendall."

Catching her mother's gaze in the mirror, Kendall smiled and it was flat, like everything she did these days was. She was beautiful, yes, but it was tainted by the way she stood in the dress, the white fabric feeling like a heavy wrap, smothering her, tangling her limbs and making it hard to bring air into her lungs.

She let fingers graze the material of her wedding dress, and the sight of it in the mirror, looking so much like the one she had worn that day that she had risked everything was enough to make her stomach lurch in her gut, and the feel of it across her skin made her swallow roughly, squashing emotion down to smile at her mother.

When she stepped off, turning, her mother came forward, undoing the buttons that ran up her back and helping Kendall slip it off, carefully hanging the dress up before letting Kendall put back on her own clothes, the blouse and skirt, and leaving the dressing room, Erica trailing behind, babbling in excitement about the wedding ceremony.

When he spotted her, he stood, passing their son to Bianca and coming forward, flashing a grin at Erica before kissing Kendall, gathering her close and cupping her face, thumb caressing her cheek. When he pulled back, wrapping his arms around her, she beamed at him. "I bet you look beautiful in that dress."

"Beautiful is an understatement," Erica laughed and they chuckled together and, behind Ryan, Bianca looked away, shifting the little boy in her lap and biting her lip as she studied anything other than the small group in front of her, anger lightly skimming her dark eyes and leaving her pretty face emotionless.

Kendall hated that her sister saw as much as she did… it made it hurt all the more.

"You want to go home?" Ryan asked and she glanced back at him, wanting nothing more than to get away from Bianca who looked so angry and seemed to be in such quiet pain for her sister. And she wanted to get away from Erica with everything that she was sure Kendall really wanted, not caring that her daughter was slowly unraveling, slowly crumbling under it all.

"Yes." She nodded hard, and then nodded harder when her mother began voicing protest, insisting that they should all go together to the dinner for the family. "Yes." She pressed closer to the man she was going to marry. "Yes, Ryan… I want to go home, please?"

"But—"

"Why don't we let them go spend some time alone," Bianca interrupted sharply, and when Erica shot her a look, she seemed startled to see the quiet anger in her younger daughter's gaze, faltering under the surprising fury on the young woman's face. Bouncing Chris very slightly in her lap, Bianca changed tack effortlessly, swiftly going from anger to sweetness as she smiled. "Besides, I'd like for Miranda to have some time with cousin Chris here."

Let Ryan think he had named their son, let him keep his lies, the things that seemed to keep him going. He was named for Bianca, was named for her sister who had been the only one to care since Ryan had told her the truths with his hands and his eyes excited at the chance of beating Zach at his own game.

Didn't Ryan always complain that she was the one who couldn't win without someone else losing?

He had won, he had gotten what he wanted and Zach had lost and he didn't seem to care that Kendall had lost too, because nothing mattered more than the fact that he had won back Kendall, who had actually seemed to think that she didn't need him anymore, who had actually acted like she had moved on… Ryan had won and Zach had lost.

And now, standing in the middle of a group of people and held close to her husband, the man she'd soon be exchanging vows with again so that Erica could get her pictures and so that Ryan could make a different choice when Kendall stood before him in that wedding dress and with her heart open and helpless, getting his chance to fix the mistake he didn't want to admit to making…

Kendall was lost.

* * *

Erica was giving the press a ticket to Kendall's ceremony with Ryan Lavery, giving them the right to bring the cameras and questions into Kendall's personal life, like this was her chance to prove to the world how much she loved her dear daughter Kendall despite everything she had said and done to Kendall in the last months.

As much as he hated the pictures, he kept the papers with her face on them, studying them in the middle of the night, when his mind gave in and went back to how easy it had been for her to believe such things. All because of Lavery…

Now, sitting at his desk at the casino, the rest of the building dark and empty, he studied the face that decorated the front page, grainy and gray but still flawless to him. Another sip of her alcohol—he was pretty sure it was Scotch but he couldn't be sure—and he considered the look on her face, the eyes hidden beneath her glasses.

And he told himself, again, that she looked happy.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Stupid**_

_Chapter Two_

"I don't think I've ever been more excited."

Opening her eyes, she turned her head in Ryan's lap, offering him an absolutely brilliant smile for a moment or two before shifting her eyes back to the coffee table, pillowing her cheek on his thigh. His hand, caressing her neck and shoulder, continued its calm movements, fingers trailing across soft skin.

He meant it as a soothing movement, did it to prove how much he loved her and needed her and how much he appreciated her and she found it exhausting, found it exhausting to work so hard to make herself relax in his lap. Now was no different and, with steady concentration on keeping her shoulders loose, she murmured, "About the ceremony?"

A finger tugged her earlobe absently, a chuckle escaping him and she smiled to herself at how happy he sounded. "Of course about the ceremony, baby…" She could hear the smile in his voice, something she'd always been good at and for a moment it took all her willpower to shiver in something she didn't quite understand. "I can't wait to see you in that dress."

"We're already married."

"Yeah, if you want to be technical," he laughed softly. He made a noise of amusement, and then shifted; smoothing his hand along her collarbone, pressing the heel of his hand into those muscles, working them all out, and she clenched her teeth when his fingers dug in just a little bit too deep for a moment. But, still… he was so happy and he was trying so fucking hard… "This is our wedding, our real wedding, without having to worry about Greenlee coming in and ruining it all."

There were words, just beneath the surface of her consciousness, shifting and rolling over her mercilessly, taunting her with the nasty fact that it took two to Tango and that nobody made Ryan do anything he didn't want to do, whether it be marriage or playing dead or anything else.

There were words and she forced them back involuntarily, sighing, letting out her breath as a quiet noise of self-control. "I'm excited too, you know that. It's just…" She hesitated, biting it back and then, finally, she looked back up at him, smiling slightly, giddy with relief that he was still clearly so excited. "I can't wait."

They made love. They made love and she was tense and nervous and stressed and not at all relaxed in his hands, in his arms, reacted by thought and not instinct, by what she had to do and not what she wanted, gave him what he needed and deserved and she didn't enjoy it, not really.

And, like always, Ryan didn't notice.

* * *

Standing before the front of the window facing the opposite condo, he stared across, eyes on the sign in the corner of one window, his inside aching at the overwhelming feel of emptiness that hung around the place where she had once made her home, the one place that he had found himself sure of. The certainty he'd had that, when he came home from the casino, he could see the ghostly light of her television through the shuttered windows, silent testimony to her insomnia.

Now it was empty.

He took a small step closer to the window, staring at the door, remembering how it had felt to have her curl into his arms, knowing it was his fault but also knowing, after so many years of living that painful truth, that regrets would never change anything, that, in the end, nothing could ever change anything, not after it was done

Snorting softly, he rubbed his face, his mouth, trying to ignore the flicker of electricity he felt there, burning reminiscence of that kiss, of the taste of her, that mingling of salt and sweetness that he found himself craving like some kind of addiction even though, at the same time, he hated that it refused to leave, hated that he couldn't shut off everything the way he once was able to.

He didn't shift his eyes when Bianca's voice reached him, from the answering machine, pretty voice alight with pain for someone she loved, mentioning lightly how much Miranda wanted to see her beloved uncle and meaning so much more. Imagination, never one of his strong points, was his enemy now, rapidly filling his head with what it might be like to act as uncle to Kendall's aunt.

He shook his head, reaching forward to shut the blinds before turning away, his gaze shifting to the papers littering the coffee table, eyes absorbing her face and blocking out everything else. Forcing himself, he moved forward, snatching them off and folding them angrily, striding to his garbage can and, with tightness in his head and heart he hated, he shoved them in.

Kendall was better without him.

* * *

Josh Madden had destroyed any affection that his mother might have had for him when, five seconds after realizing that his sister was now Mrs. Ryan Lavery, had jumped to his feet and gone after Ryan like a bulldog after a steak. He had proceeded to voice his disgust for the sickening joke of a marriage only to find himself victim to one of Erica's most scathing and vicious retorts of her entire life.

On the other hand, he had quickly become Myrtle Fargate's second favorite person to drag in for tea. And, since her first favorite person to have over with tea was no longer active in any real way, having shifted into a kind of robotic state since the explosion, Josh had found himself often being brought out of his apartment for tea with the elderly woman.

Now, an hour or so after leaving the boardinghouse stuffed to the brim with way too many cookies and cakes, he once again found himself contemplating, staring at his television blankly and trying to process everything he did and didn't know. His mother—the one who had loved him before everything had gone to hell—had lived in a loveless marriage and look what had happened to her.

He glanced down at the hands in his lap, studying the palms that had helped bring his sister's baby—his nephew—into the world. Dropping his hands tiredly, he closed his eyes and leaned back, slouching down in his seat as he turned thoughts to this mess that he knew, so clearly, he had to fix.

He wouldn't let Kendall end up Emily, a dead-eyed woman with a fake and empty smile and that painful dullness in her eyes that no one wanted—or cared—to see because what would that mean if they really looked at it, saw what the aftermath was? He opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling and began, finally, to plan the quiet destruction of the Lavery marriage.

* * *

With him curled against her back, breathing into her neck, soft heat that should have warmed her easily. Gulping, pulling the sheet up, she still shivered slightly, struggling not to wake him up. Finally, calmed again, she sighed softly, and staring at the walls of the penthouse bedroom.

The penthouse…

Where he had lived with the woman he loved, where he had lived with Greenlee while he hadn't loved her, when she had pushed him away because, like her mother said, she'd been too flawed then to appreciate what he was offering to her. Where he had made love to Greenlee, the woman he'd loved, making love to his precious wife while she had drifted until—

The thought was enough to begin the ache, even with how quickly she scrambled fearfully away from those memories and what they did to her even now, after so many months, fingers and hands roaming her form, mouth grazing against her neck and breath hot against her skin, igniting that long-dead blaze inside her, along with that primal pulse that began to pound in her ears even now, stretched out by her husband.

Pulling away from her husband, the man that she had committed herself to, she slipped out of the bed, snatching up a robe from beside her and yanking it on, tying it quickly and fleeing the bedroom, leaving him to sleep and struggling to stop shaking and to fill her lungs, beginning to feel the first touches of dizziness from emotion.

Emerging into the living room, she jerked to a stop, one arm around herself and her other hand rose to her chest and neck, holding the top of her robe closed, almost clutching it, hand trembling. Breath coming quick, she stood frozen, staring at the dimly lit inside of the penthouse where they lived.

It wasn't home, she thought in agony, staring at the couch, at the floor, at the mantle and the walls, wondering how many times Ryan had been with the woman he loved here, his precious Greenlee, the one he loved, the one who hadn't been so terribly, terribly wrong at everything she did…

Shaking her head, closing her eyes, she sank onto the couch, burying her face in her hands and the world spinning as she sat there, breath coming in frightened, strangled pants and cowering under everything. Voices and faces and places that she had to accept… Ryan had been right and, in his own devastating way, so had Zach.

Love like his didn't last long… and it had destroyed both of them in the end, and Zach…

Her throat burned, a knot thickening as she bit her cheek, and she was cold, so frighteningly cold no matter what she did, no matter what she wore or how she curled herself against Ryan, trying to find some kind of heat, some kind of warmth that she so desperately needed and there was none, no matter how many times she searched for it, it was nowhere to be found.

Even if she wanted it to be there…


	3. Chapter 3

_**Stupid**_

_Chapter Three_

Ryan was taking her to that castle.

Staring down at the plane ticket, watching it silently with shattered green eyes, Kendall finally reached out, traced one edge with a fingertip. Licking her lips, she swallowed roughly, yanking her hand back and clasping her hands in her lap; the computer screen, untouched for long minutes, clicked onto the Fusion screen saver.

Catching sight of the movement beside her, she turned away, shuffling folders and not really caring. Simone didn't take the hint and, as Kendall bit back her scream of frustration, she took a seat on the edge of Kendall's desk, hooking her ankles and offering Kendall a bright smile and laughing eyes as she reached out and grabbed Kendall's hand, lifting it up to let the light glitter off the diamond.

"Only a few more days," she laughed, and then leaned forward, dropping the other woman's hand to hug her, her rich laughter filling Kendall's ears. She grinned again at the other woman, lifted her eyebrows in clear joy. "Aren't you so excited! Yeah, okay, you two are already all legal together but, hey, this is the big deal!" Tossing dark hair from her face, she yanked the hand so hard it nearly ripped out of Kendall's shoulder. "This is exciting!"

"Simone—" She stopped, finally managing to get her hand out of Simone's viselike grip, pushing the chair back from the desk and standing, scrambling dully away from the person that called herself a friend but really didn't give a damn. Resisting the urge to scrub her hands with something harsh until they felt clean again, she faked a smile, all she seemed to do these days. "Look, you don't have to suck up… you're already bride's maid, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah…" Waltzing past Kendall, Simone flashed another giddy grin. "This is what you always dreamed of with Ryan, too… the fairy tale wedding, the big family get-together, everybody happy for you and your husband. This is it Kendall, what you and any sane woman has always wanted."

Again, her eyes flicked to the plane ticket, swallowing down the sudden blow to her insides, the stinging memory of breaking in that place, of realizing that she wasn't worthy of what Ryan had offered so often. He was giving her another chance, another chance to keep from making those mistakes she'd made.

She was supposed to be happy.

* * *

Maggie, mini-mommy that she had become since she had begun taking such an active role in Miranda's life, had taken Miranda and Chris to the park, leaving Bianca with a chance to make her way to the casino that her sister had once been part owner of. With her dark hair swept from her face and heels clicking steadily, she made her way through the inside of the massive building.

And finally she stopped; only now hesitating as she stood before his office door, she was losing her nerve as she stared at it, watching it with large dark eyes and unable to formulate her worries as anything other than what her mother would define nagging. Sighing, she shook her head tiredly, blocking the mental image of her mother ranting and screaming out of her mind as she finally took the bull by horns.

Or, technically, the door by the knob but it was the thought that counted, right?

She'd caught sight of him only once or twice in the last months, even with how often she had tried to speak with him, if only to see if he was still surviving. It was difficult and the only sight she'd really gotten of him had been hazy and blurred, destroyed by his rapid shift into a veritable hermit in the past year or so.

Within hours of returning home from her mother's Mardi Gras ball, he had moved out of his condo and into the casino itself, ignoring all of the hundreds of calls she had sent to him after learning about the death and refusing to even let her near his office when she got back to Pine Valley for the funeral.

If anything, since Kendall had had her son, he'd all but disappeared from Pine Valley itself, withdrawing into himself and his own work with such a flawless ease that it frightened her, making her wonder how a man could be so gifted at being so hidden even from family members.

He was family, as far as Bianca was concerned, and she, personally, didn't give a flying fuck about the Cambias genes.

When she slipped in now, he flicked the mother of his niece a heartbeat of his attention, letting empty hazel eyes skim over her slim figure before he once again dropped his attention to whatever he was doing on his desk, pen making quick movements and the scratching of the ink into paper the only sound in the disturbingly silent office.

She remembered that silence all too well and, thanks in part to her, JR Chandler knew that silence, too.

Bracing herself, clenching her jaw and taking a deep breath, she moved closer to the desk, aware of how much he was refusing to acknowledge her, refusing to look at her again, refusing to even give her his attention, only asking, in a shockingly pleasant voice, "Is there anything you need, Ms. Montgomery?"

Ms. Montgomery? She was Ms. Montgomery now? Crossing arms over her chest, she lowered herself into the chair opposite him, crossing her legs and letting out that breath quietly. "I've wanted to talk to you, Zach and, for once, your bulldog Edie is letting someone in other those you invite." Bianca paused, hesitating, before dryly cracking, "She's as bad as Maggie, you…"

"Well, that's what she gets paid for." He set one sheet of paper to the side, starting signing his signature in several areas on the next, still not looking at her.

"I think… I think we need to talk about Kendall, Zach."

* * *

One thing that Josh would never forget would be the sight of his mother and her hand had felt when he had took it, how cold and stiff it had been and knowing, innately and with a frightening assurance, that his existence had been what had driven her to finally down the pills and wait to die, not giving a damn who found her.

She had based her entire life around him, around this miracle that she had brought into the world, about this child that she had given life to and it had all been a lie, something from Greg to give everybody what they wanted. Greg got his little piece of Erica Kane and his Emily got her baby, the one she wanted so badly she would die if she couldn't have him.

A little bit of sperm there, an egg here and, voila, Emily got what she always wanted… until she'd found out that it was all a lie and she finally found a way out… and Josh had been left to pick up the shattered remains, not grasping why until so many years later, reading the results and realizing why his mother had died hating him.

Erica had taken her husband in all the ways that mattered and, then, in the end, Erica stole her miracle…

Josh Madden, broken son and all-around smart-ass, was a jack of all trades, something he apparently got from Erica, and he had always had this quirk, even since he had been a child. However, the serious flaw of this quirk was that, usually, he had a very low attention span and usually lost interest in something after a few days… a few weeks at most.

This, however, was one of the few things that he held onto, this obsession to keep his sister from ending up like his real mother, the one that Greg and Erica had destroyed without even realizing it. He really didn't give a flying fuck about his birth mother, not really, and so he felt not a flicker of guilt as he picked his way through her belongings in her office, listening to her verbally abuse Val like a banshee.

And now, silent, he eyed the discovery with narrowed eyes, wondering, absently, when she had completely lost her mind.

Shaking his head in disgust, memorizing the name of the hotel and website, even though he was already sure of where it was, he finally pushed the papers brochure back into the desk drawer, slipping quickly away from the desk and settling into the chair, listening to the constant bitching and moaning.

Had Erica been dropped on her head as a child?


	4. Chapter 4

_AN: I've been busy as hell, and it's really making me a little bit pissed. There will probably be some questions concerning some of the characters in here and, yes, they will be explained. A lot has happened since the Mardi Gras ball. Affairs, divorces, recoveries and, of course, returns of 'lost' characters. Anyway, I do so hope this was worth the horrible wait._

_**

* * *

Stupid**_

_Where am I today? I wish that I knew  
'Cause looking around there's no sign of you  
I don't remember one jump or one leap  
Just quiet steps away from your lead _

I'm holding my heart out but clutching it too  
Feeling this short of a love that we once knew  
I'm calling this home when it's not even close  
Playing the role with nerves left exposed

Standing on a darkened stage, stumbling through the lines  
Others have excuses, but I have my reasons why

We get distracted by dreams of our own  
But nobody's happy while feeling alone  
And knowing how hard it hurts when we fall  
We lean another ladder against the wrong wall

And climb high to the highest rung, to shake fists at the sky  
While others have excuses, I have my reasons why

_- Nickel Creek, 'Reasons Why'_

_

* * *

Chapter Four_

* * *

"_I— Ryan and I—"_

_Kendall stopped, sore where her heart lay in her chest, staring at him, wishing he would do something other than stare at her like that, standing there. Smoothing sweaty hands down her maternity dress, she licked her lips, looking away from him, dropping her eyes to her swollen stomach, hating it for a moment. She was supposed to love the baby because, like Ryan and Erica said, she was supposed to just love him…_

"_I gathered your marriage from the ring on your finger."_

_She flinched, wanting nothing more than to spin on her heel and dart away but not wanting to at the same thing, something that made her hurt even more, feeling like someone was rubbing salt into that vicious ache in her. Jerking her hands behind her back, the ring a heavy weight on her shaking fingers, she shook her head unhappily. "We're married, me and Ryan… he… he and I have decided to try again…"_

"_How wonderful for you."_

_Short, clipped, viciously cutting in its chilled emptiness, missing something she'd never realized was there until it was gone now. Swallowing roughly, tears burning at the back of her eyes, she continued to stare at the floor, or at least at her stomach, feeling like the life had gone out of her with just a few words._

"_Bianca's coming back for a few weeks, for the—for the birth and… well, she's bringing Miranda home with her..."_

_Zach turned away, leaving her to struggle to breath. He had the door pushed half-open and one foot out of the room before she finally managed to ask, "You want to see Miranda, right? I mean, she really adores you, Zach no matter what… no matter what went on between the two of us…"_

"_I think it's best if she just visits with her aunt, Kendall."_

* * *

With Little Adam standing by the car, both hands pressed obediently against the side, Erin hooked the strap of the workbag over one shoulder and across her chest, unfolding herself from the backseat of the car and straightening. Slamming it shut, she grinned at the little boy holding out one hand; he only let go of the car with one hand when his other had slipped into hers.

JR Chandler had spent many an hour teaching his son things like that, always living in that constant state of panic at the idea of losing him again. Adam Chandler the Third, like the brilliant child that he was, followed the rules, especially when he was out with his nanny.

Heading into the park, first touches of spring easing the bitter chill from the past months, she let him swing their linked hands happily, listening to him babbling about the song birds fluttering through the trees, hopping between branches and resettling, chirping and peeping right back at the happy child.

Finally getting close enough to the playground with its myriad of happy, screaming children, Erin let go of his hand and he took off, loose jacket flapping furiously as he streaked up the side of the hard plastic play set, climbing like a monkey up the large handholds. Erin, still aware of his movements, paused, eyes falling on Maggie, who sat with bag at her feet and baby stroller to her side.

Maggie and Bianca's move back to Pine Valley had been cause for stress for the already Erin. Long sleepless nights of worrying before, finally, she had headed over to the house that the two women owned and asked what Maggie wanted to do. The med student, a petite thing with dark hair and rich eyes, had been shockingly kind and shockingly understanding of what was causing Erin such stress.

Still, she always worried about crossing the line with Maggie Stone, always worried about being disrespectful to the woman who always understood so much of how many things were going on between everyone in the entangled Kane/Hart/Lavery family. Erin liked Maggie and she, personally, thought Kendall was one of the nicest women she had ever met.

Erin had understood when Kendall had put her foot down, not wanting Jonathon alone with her child without someone else around. Moreover, somehow, in the resulting conversations, Erin had realized that she had gained something of Kendall's respect, especially when a series of odd things happened and Erin had found herself being called Little Adam's nanny.

Then everything had blown to hell…

When she crouched before the baby stroller, Maggie just flashed her a smile and a nod and she lifted the soft screen, studying her nephew's face with a broad smile. Reaching in, she teased one foot for a moment or so helplessly, finally managing to pull her hand back and move away from him to settle on the bench. "I swear, he's getting so big, I can't believe it."

Sighing, leaning back, Maggie stifled a yawn behind one palm, setting the college book in her lap to the side, and then regarded the redhead at her side with her eyes on the youngest Chandler now engaged in a game of Tag with Miranda. "Him and Miranda, I swear, one minute she's chewing her fists and the next minute she's annoyed that what she's wearing isn't Kane enough."

Erin snorted at that, forcing a smile, something the other women caught and questioned her about and, for a moment, silently, she considered playing quiet. However, breaking under the force of the other woman's worry, she looked over, brows creased in slight worry. "Ryan... it's about Ryan," she finally divulged, and the relief that flooded her system threatened to choke her.

Now Maggie was alert again, leaning forward and closer to Erin. "What…? Come on, Erin, spill…"

Erin's childhood had been based around keeping Jonathon safe and, for so many years, she had been the one to help him clean the blood up and hide the bruises when he went out. Now, she had a steady job and she was trusted with the most precious thing in JR's life… JR, the man she… the man she cared about. "Jonathon's therapy," she finally muttered, quietly and under her voice.

"Is Jonathon trying to stop?"

Erin gave her a sharp look, eyes narrowed for a moment before she shook her head furiously. "No, Jonathon… he's doing all the things he's supposed to, Maggie. All of his appointments with Dr. Nelson, like Bianca wanted and we're both going to the group and…" She hesitated, gnawed a lip and finally, despite her attempts, blurted out harshly, "Ryan doesn't think he needs the therapy anymore, Maggie."

Complete silence and she could hear the wheels turning in Maggie's head, the sharp Stone intelligence. "What does Jonathon have to say about this?" she finally asked carefully and Erin shook her head tiredly. "Jonathon wants to get better, he wants to stop the nightmares and he wants to have the chance to make himself worthy of something… but Ryan's getting really insistent, Maggie. He keeps saying that Jon's fine and that he doesn't need anymore help and he's wrong, Maggie, okay, Ryan… Ryan is wrong."

She heard Maggie flip open her phone, begin dialing and felt comforted for the first time since Ryan had started his insistence that therapy and help wasn't needed anymore. Standing, moving away from the bench and closer to where Little Adam was swinging, legs pumping and excitedly yelling at Miranda to go as high as him.

For the first time in her life, she felt something akin to hope and happiness and she'd be damned if she would let Ryan ruin it just so he could live in his happy go-lucky hero world… No, she had been through too much and Jonathon had been through too much to let all of their work be destroyed because Ryan was convinced he was right.

* * *

"So… you're Erica Kane's son?"

Collette, a pretty little blonde with eyes like the ocean and lips like Angelina Jolie's without the freaky puffer-fish quality, hovered behind him as he flicked his way thoughtfully through the junk that circled his feet in the abandoned condo. "Yep." He was aware of the fact that when she came back from getting the next box, her blouse had displayed more generous amounts of cleavage than it had before.

Maybe some men would have been quietly disturbed by how eager some women were to get close, very close, to him in order to, just maybe, meet mommy Kane but, as always, Josh was not some man and he never had been one. Quietly noting how nice that blouse fit on her, he kept up his own search through records while keeping a half-eye on her and her movements, tight fabric of her shirt clinging tight to long legs and missing one of those panty-lines most people had.

Collette wasn't wearing any panties.

Maybe after he had gotten Kendall and his nephew away from the Browed Wonder, he'd come back and visit Collette of the Non-Existent Panty-Line and Displayed Cleavage? From where she was now, hovering around him like some nervous hummingbird, he could see just right between the buttons of her blouse and, had he not been so dedicated to the problem at hand, he'd most definitely be promising her that she'd be meeting Kane soon enough.

Damn brotherly instincts…

Kicking away a useless box of junk, finding nothing to aid him in his hold quest, Josh tried to ease the crick in his neck and then turned to Collette, nodding to the next cardboard box with a slightly put-out expression on his face, only half-interested when she bent, displaying her skirt-clad behind.

Who needed a long-time relationship when he had this?

The thought was harsh and he bit back a sigh of weariness, the jarringly clear double-meaning present in his worried mind. He had none of these feelings for the rest of these people, not even little Bianca, who had stepped up immediately, trying to drag him into the family, terrifying him beyond words.

He didn't need another mother; his had been just fine, no matter how horribly it had ended…

Kendall, though, Kendall was something in his blood, something beneath his skin, some connection that he'd once had with Emily before she had finally given into all of her hurt and pain, before the hospital had called him up and informed him, in that cool, unfeeling tone, that she had jumped off the roof and that he was needed to identify the body since, of course, his father was too fucking busy knocking women up…

Kendall, he had finally realized, was the anchor he had lost that night, that connection he had had ripped away and stolen. She wanted nothing from him, wanted no acceptance from him, wanted no extra words or fake promises. She'd understood more, seen more than any of the rest and, because of that, more than anything else, she _deserved_ better.

Kendall deserved to be cherished.

"So, what, exactly, are we looking for in this junk?"

He looked down at the next box, unopened and waiting for him and leaned forward, popping the ties and tugging off the lid. "We're looking for quite a few things, Collette." Noting the flush of color when he remembered her name, he began digging with renewed vigor, knowing this path was probably bust but not really caring.

Everybody had to start somewhere.

* * *

"What are you doing?"

Pausing in his conversation, JR Chandler looked up, meeting the brilliant blue eyes that peered at him over the desk, the mess of inky black hair having escaped the ponytail he'd put in just a half-hour before. "I'm talking to someone," he replied, phone cradled between shoulder and ear.

"Who?"

"A…" JR paused, considering his next words carefully, trying to figure out exactly what the connection between him and Bianca, strenuous as it was. There was, of course, their last conversation hanging over them, the off-hand remark that he had a gift for Miranda's second birthday and the vicious fight between Bianca and her sister that it had sparked.

Then, of course, that strained and slightly forced but oddly sincere apology that came from, he knew full well, the only other person in the world who saw Kendall as the amazing and wonderful woman that she was, the one that the rest of these idiotic idiots simply didn't want to see.

Kendall was that link.

"Ms. Bianca's on the phone, honey…" He looked past her, searching for Winnie and found no one. Biting back his sigh, he pulled out the drawer to his side and tugged one of the many toys out and then one of the Dr. Suess books that both Kate and Little Adam adored. "Can you give your big brother just a few more minutes to talk to Ms. Bianca?"

"Hmm…"

That was all, the only response, her head already buried in tales of green eggs and ham, perching herself on the couch along the other side of his office, legs swinging as Kate kept herself occupied. It was a precious few minutes of peace and he took it, restarting his conversation with the sister of his best friend. "You're not making any sense, Bianca—"

"Zach's like a brick wall, JR, it's like talking to some robot or something. I mean, some of the things that he said and some of the looks he gave me… he—" A long silence before, with a slight hint of anger, she added, "Simone called me up last night, going on and on about how Zach isn't mourning Ethan but, JR…"

"Okay, if you're just going to keep pausing for dramatic effects, I'm going to hang up on you—"

"I saw him, when I visited the grave after I got back to Pine Valley and Zach was there but… JR, he was just standing there, staring at the grave, just staring. If he had been talking or walking or something… he was just standing there, JR, just stood there and didn't do anything… he hasn't dealt with Ethan yet."

"That's not new news, Bianca."

"Yeah? Well, Maggie just called me and your nanny told her something."

Erin…? His curiousity now fully peaked, he leaned forward, frowning. He'd been picking up on something odd about Erin, weariness in her movements and her face that he hadn't been able to link to anything. "What about Erin, Bianca?" Everything in the past months, all of this Hell and pain had finally loosened its hold on his heart and, yes, he cared about her even if he wasn't going to admit it to anyone.

"Ryan wants Jonathon to stop his therapy."

If Ryan Lavery had been standing in front of him, in that moment, JR would have shoved the phone where the sun doesn't shine.

"Every time I turn around, JR, my mother and Ryan are laughing about the wedding or going on about how wonderful this second chance is and every time I look at Kendall, I can barely recognize her. I mean, I look at her and I wrap my arms around her and I tell her I love her and she just smiles at me like that's very nice of me to put up with her and just pushes me away."

It hurt to have it all put into words after the long months of watching her slowly crumble under all that pressure and strain, of watching her crack and shatter and finally look at them one day and see nothing but people who put up with her. It hurt. Hurt as much, if not more, than everything that he had been through in the last while.

"What can I do?"


	5. Chapter 5

_AN: There are, basically, two or three things that I am changing both to get this fic through and because I like my version better than that Hack crap that McT spews with her poison pen of doom and gloom. One is how Trevor passed away, which I will be doing in a flashback that is already almost done and, as above, I like my version way better, you know? The second is what happened after the explosion, a few scenes of which will be put into short but self-explanatory flashbacks to keep everybody level. As I said in the last AN, there have been several relationship that have come into being since the ball explosion and you guys should find at least one you'll enjoy in here…_

_The third, of course, is Josh himself. He is not, as I said a few updates back, a walking fetus. Greg took Erica's eggs, froze them for a few years then gave Emily her 'miracle baby'. Greg is, technically, not in this fic but there will be some mentions of what happened between the explosion and now, with these guys beginning to gather out of their own love and devotion to Kendall._

_Anyway, it is with much love that I dedicate this chapter to the woman who showed me the way to both this lovely board and, of course, to a certain couple many of us have become obsessed with to the extreme. Yes, Gidget, this chapter is dedicated to you, my friend! adds another candle to the altar, spends a few moments in meditation before coming back to the computer and finishing long-ass AN… Say it with me guys, "Yay Gidget!"_

_This all said, there is some stuff in this update that might disturb some people, a lot of what I think might develop concerning Kendall and the baby when you consider how some people who shall remain nameless keep shoving their own views down a confused new mother's throat. I truly think, watching some of the scenes, that this type of angst could developed and I'm really, shall we say, spinning all I can out of some of the more disturbing things that I've seen on our screen the last little while._

_The following chapter includes angst. No, I mean it. Angst._

_**

* * *

Stupid**_

_Stranger than your sympathy_

_This is my apology_

_I'm killing myself from the inside out_

_And all my fears have pushed you out_

_Stranger than your sympathy_

_I take these things so I don't feel_

_I'm killing myself from the inside out_

_Now my head's been filled with doubt_

_Stranger than your sympathy_

_All these thoughts you stole from me_

_I'm not sure where I belong_

_Nowhere's home and I'm all wrong_

_- Goo Goo Dolls, 'Sympathy'_

_

* * *

Chapter Five_

* * *

"Phone! Get the phone! Phone, Errie! Phone, phone, phone!"

Shooting into the room, rushing to intercept where Little Adam was streaking across the living room of the Chandler mansion, Erin raced around the other side of the antique sofa, grabbing him under the armpits a split second before his bright red fingers reached the shrill-sounding phone, holding him like a bag of flour on her hip, sighing as she felt the finger-paint smear across her dark blouse.

Neither she nor JR could pinpoint exactly what had set off this phone obsession but they were beginning to fear it.

"It's the red finger-paint, isn't it?"

JR's voice, surprisingly clear across the connection caused her to chuckle dryly, shifting the child again, if only to keep from dropping him. Blocking out the babbling at her hip, Erin finally responded, in a voice weary with finger-paint woes, "Your psychic senses are astounding, boss."

"Yeah, well, I'm a valuable asset to the psychic community."

"Hold on a sec, huh?" Setting the phone down for a few minutes, Erin set the child down, pulling the rag from her back pocket and quickly rubbing down his hands, wiping off any that she could without ripping off his skin and then, giving him a pat on the rear, she shooed him back to the next room, where he was practicing his artistic skills with Kate. That worry eased, at least until the next phone call, she went back to the phone. "Okay, the little Van Gogh is off again so you get to answer my questions."

"Questions, Red?"

"Yeah, like, where are you? I mean, you call me at one in the morning and say that you need me to come down and watch the little guy for a while but I don't even know where you are. So, unless you want me to sic you kid on the furniture—"

"You don't stand a chance against Winnie—"

"Unless you don't want me to sic your kid on the furniture," she went on with more power behind it, "you will tell me where you are."

"You worried?"

Erin paused, a nervous flutter in her stomach and, for a moment, her wary but oddly giddy mind thought it detected something else in the voice that had suddenly lowered the slightest bit, a slightly smoky quality filling it through those two words. Squashing that down, she quickly wiped her suddenly sweaty palms on her jeans and cracked, in a slightly forced voice, "You gotta give me my paychecks, right?"

A long silence, a long pause, something that flickered oddly and she kept her eyes on Little Adam, focused on him until, finally, he spoke again, that edge of something gone but not gone, a hint of it still present in his tone. "I'm just taking care of a few things, been here since early this morning, checking a few things."

"Like what?"

The barely perceptible pauses from her boss had her biting back her sigh, her lips twitching at the sudden guilty feel from the other side of the connection. "Like what, JR?" she coaxed with real amusement, her slight panic from the previous oddness between the two eased by her own urge to point and laugh at him, knowing full-well that, wherever he was at the moment, he was getting all shifty-eyed.

"Nothing."

Ah, the maturity of the Chandler male… "Fine, be all secretive if you want," she finally gave in, rubbing her neck absently, fingers trailing across skin, leaving her with a flutter of awkwardness as she dropped her hand hastily, plucking unhappily at her blouse, wondering helplessly what those other fingers felt like. "Well, just call me if you get worried about Little A." 

"Yeah, yeah, of course…" There was another silence and then, "Look, I just called to check in on you and the little guy but I got to get back to what I was doing a few minutes ago." Again, that pause, that silence that made her shift uneasily before he returned once more. "I'll get back to the mansion when I get everything done."

Then, with a click, he was gone and she hung up the phone, moving away from it to observe her charge silently, finger-painting with Kate and his uncle Stuart. She'd never had this before, not like this and even her happier moments with Jonathon were tinged with the constant fear they had lived in…

What if Ryan ruined it?

What if she lost this, whatever it was, because he just wanted to prove that he was right? Just that thought, just that idea, was devastating and she rubbed her face, watching JR's son with a rare kind of joy she rarely enjoyed, rarely felt free enough to enjoy but she felt free here, felt free but grounded at the same time, for the first time in her life.

She didn't want to lose that…

* * *

Christopher was a beautiful child. He had those dazzling eyes and that brilliant smile, a dark fuzz of hair with the first touches of curl when he woke up in the morning. He rarely fussed and, even when he did, it was a quiet and gentle sound, never enough to wear down a new mother's ears. He was a beautiful child, truly.

Yet, staring down at him in his crib, Kendall saw nothing beautiful there.

As she did every morning, she gazed down at him, taking him in, studying ten fingers and ten toes, the cherub face and that serious case of bed head as he lay there, sleeping, chest rising and falling as he breathed, what should have been something beautiful and precious to her.

Gripping the crib, chest tight with chained emotion, she struggled silently, searching for anything as she stared at him, looking for any kind of affection and caring and, as always, finding nothing but that empty hollow that bloomed whenever she caught sight of him. Throat constricting viciously, she stepped away, fleeing the nursery and slipping into the rest of the penthouse.

"How is he?"

"Fine."

Kendall moved past him, trying to some room where she could curl up and just stop for a few minutes, some place where there was no hurt. She just wanted to stop, desperately so, and it was hard to breathe as she moved quickly, getting as far away as she could from the child, finally striding into the kitchen.

Ryan followed.

Trying to ignore him, she pulled the eggs from the fridge, she set them, with too much carefulness, on the kitchen counter, opening them and staring, blankly, at the rounded white shapes, simply watching them, smothered, for a moment, by that hurt where her heart had once been.

Looping his arms around her, Ryan pressed closer, pinning her against the counter and letting his fingertips brushed the undersides of her breasts through her nightgown. She jerked, almost an attempt to throw him off and felt grateful, strangely, when he mistook it for her own arousal… if he thought she was already aroused, he wouldn't keep touching her.

This time, it didn't work and she swallowed roughly when a mouth grazed where her pulse jumped, fingers gripping the edge of the counter and biting back the sudden flare of misery in the pit of her, a vicious tightening that hitched her breathing as she shut her eyes tightly. "I need to cook breakfast—" He swallowed the rest of her words, gripping her hips and turning her, catching her mouth with his.

A spilt second later, she let out a short sound of slight pain when he pressed, just a bit too much, against her breasts, crushing them. They were sore today and she hadn't had time to pump them and the abrupt sensation of them being smashed between her and Ryan made her react in pain, flinching at the feel, although that sound was smothered by him.

He leaned away, hands dropping and then changing direction, moving back and hooking the backs of her thighs, lifting her off the floor and seating her on the counter. She reached back, grabbing onto the cabinets before her head could hit them, feeling teeth graze her tongue as she felt hands work her nightgown up her legs and then higher, fingers hooking the cloth of her underwear and beginning to tug hard.

And, then, with a jarring sound, Chris announced his wakefulness and Ryan pulled away from her, leaving her feeling strangled and smothered and struggling to fill her lungs with the air he had stolen with her. "You should get the little guy," he murmured, stepping back and moving away, grabbing up an egg out of the carton.

Dropping off the counter, not caring how whorish she must look, she stared at where the sound was coming and, suddenly, hated her son, hated him so much and so deeply that it brought tears to her eyes and made her hands clench, wishing he'd have stayed quiet for just until Ryan got what he needed and left.

What he wanted them to spend the day together?

She jerked in a breath, clamping a hand over her mouth, her lips sore from Ryan's administrations, and strangled back a sob. She hated her baby… she hated her little boy, she hated him… how could she hate him… he had done nothing wrong and she was supposed to love him… Bianca loved Miranda, even with how she'd come to be and she couldn't love the baby that she had with the man that loved her?

Hearing Ryan move, set a pan on the stove, she fled the kitchen, striding to the nursery and freezing, staring down at the child with wide green eyes. Seeing her, her son stilled his screams, pressing himself up against the side of the crib and peering at her piteously between the bars, looking like a beaten animal, complete with the hangdog air, chin quivering and tears streaking his face, reaching out two arms for her and she nearly gagged, so strong was the urge to stay away from him.

What was wrong with her?

* * *

Pausing at the foot of the bed, Amanda reached behind her back, unzipping her dress and slipping it off, letting it drop to the floor as a pile of soft material. Stepping out of it, she kicked off her heels and then unhooked her bra, letting it follow the dress down to the floor. Last, taking a few steps around the bed, she shed her underwear, hooking them and sliding them past her hips and then down her thighs, letting them join her other clothes on the floor.

Shivering with the last touches of winter, touches that made her breasts react slightly and a quiver run beneath her skin, yet still grinning like a fool, she slipped into the warm bed and scooted furiously towards her usual partner in bed, hooking chilled legs around his and then pressing herself against his back, enjoying his quiet swear.

But he didn't push her away and she grinned even more broadly, drinking in his warmth happily as she considered the correct way to gift him with this news. Finally, burrowing her face in his neck, she mumbled something, muffled enough that he had to shift a bit to hear her and, obligingly, she repeated it.

"Guess what mini-Madden's doing this week?"

He snorted, shaking his head, not really caring about the man that he not so affectionately called 'unibrow'. Biting back a laugh, Amanda smoothed fingers along his neck, letting her teeth graze where she could feel his pulse, a steady sound that comforted and aroused her at the same time. "I really think you might be interested…"

When she got no answer, she decided, 'screw it' and, leaning up on one elbow the smallest bit, she met his dark eyes with her own glittering gaze, picking up the slightest touch of curiosity in his eyes. "He's decided to save Kendall from evil Ryan Lavery... isn't that fascinating?"


	6. Chapter 6

_**Stupid**_

_

* * *

Chapter Six _

* * *

Resisting an urge to call Maggie for the fifth time to check on Miranda, Bianca took a deep breathe, smoothed one shaky hand down her top and then knocked on the boarding house door, stepping back and waiting until the door opened and there was Myrtle Fargate, a broad smile fixing itself onto her face. 

After a few moments of a bone-crushing hug from the deceptively weak-looking elderly woman, she followed her into the boarding house, instantly noticing the smell of muffins and some kind of coffee cake thing. Hoping that Myrtle did not hear the sound of her stomach expressing its hunger, Bianca found her hopes dashed when her oldest real friend commented on how Amanda had made enough muffins to feed all of Pine Valley.

"Amanda was here?"

"Who do think, Montgomery?" came Josh's slightly irritated comment from the sitting room and, crossing the last few steps into the domain with her long legs, Bianca found her older half-brother perched sideways in one of Mrs. Fargate's antique leather chair, muffins crumbs decorating his dark shirt and his sleeves rolled up as he picked raisins out of another.

On the table nearby him sat several coffee cups, a disposable Starbucks cup (steaming slightly), a tray of milk, cream and sugar and, Bianca noted with a childlike pleasure she hadn't felt since the last time she had come to have tea and cakes with Myrtle, a dish of coffee cake. Seeing that it wasn't cut yet, she had an insane sudden flash of the elderly woman protecting the cake fearlessly from Josh, who was even now eying the cake with a predatory gaze.

"You're here early."

"Not as early as Amanda," he muttered, back focused on his furious raisin picking, brows furrowed in concentration as he flicked one onto the plate sitting near him, decorated with tiny spots of dark. Suddenly aware of her gaze, he gave her a chilly look, snapping, "What are you looking at, Montgomery?"

"You have my eyebrows."

To judge by the look he gave her before going back to his apparently important work, she should be grateful that he hadn't thrown the Starbucks cup at her. As Myrtle picked up the tray and commented on refilling the milk, Bianca shook off her jacket and, laying it along the side of her chair, she took a seat, crossing her legs and picking up the napkin from the table, shaking it out.

Josh just rolled her eyes, giving her that look she often found him leveling at her, something she couldn't quite figure out and was almost too exhausted from to try to figure out anymore, so common was it found on his face when he was dealing with 'Montgomery'. "I told you that you can call me Bianca… Binks, too, if you want."

"I know." He gave the muffin one last glance-over than shrugged his shoulders, chuckling, "I just choose not to… Montgomery."

Bianca bit back both her sigh and her own urge to throw that damn Starbucks cup—what kind of idiot passed up Myrtle Fargate's coffee for cheap manufactured, honestly!—she watched as Myrtle placed the tray back down and then obediently waited in silence while her coffee was made—cream and two spoons of sugar, stirred twice and then handed over.

Surprising how bitchy Myrtle could get when somebody refused to let her make their coffee for them…

Passing Josh another one of the muffins, which he took with a muttered thanks and got to work at, she took her seat beside Bianca, reaching out to give Bianca's hand a light squeeze and a pat. "I would have loved to see Miranda today but I thought today was a day for us, the adults—"

This explained why their mother wasn't there, didn't it?

"—and not to worry about keeping ourselves quiet about some things." This was said with an almost unsettling something in the back of her gaze, making Bianca feel suddenly awkward, looking away from too much understanding. Instead, she found herself staring at a similar look on Josh's usually smug face, a jarringly hollow look of pain for someone other than himself.

She felt that look on her face every time she caught herself even thinking about her sister and seeing it on someone like Josh made her stomach, already in a constant state of knots, lurch. Setting the coffee cup on the table, fighting a wave of nausea, Bianca suddenly understood why Josh hadn't already flown out of the boarding house when he learned she was there.

Myrtle hadn't come up with this visit, Josh had.

* * *

Leaning against the hospital desk, JR flipped the sheet over the clipboard and began to jot down his signature on this paper as well. Finishing and biting back a yawn, he rubbed the back of his neck before passing the clipboard to the nurse, who took it with a nod and a smile that didn't quite reach her exhausted eyes. 

The fruits of his last hours of errands, several different antique shops and a few other places that weren't quite so pleasant, filled his car and the other fruit of his labor, something found quite by accident, lay in his pocket, an oddly comforting weight. Tossing down the hospital pen, leaving it to swing freely on its ball-chain, he headed towards the last room down the hall, already unwrapping the package.

Peeking into the room, nodded to himself when he saw no one else, he opened the door and slipped into the room, clicking the door shut behind him and pausing, finding himself in a silence disturbed only by the breathing machine nearby. Once again checking around, he finally slipped around the bed and, moving a few of the other photo frames, he set up this newest one, checking that it was right where he could see it when he woke up.

And he would… he would wake up.

Stepping back, observing him for a few minutes, he finally nodded to himself and, feeling satisfied by this at least, JR turned away, moving to the other side of the room, eyes skimming across the other photo frames, reaching out to brush fingers across the wooden frame of one that displayed an image of his other child.

Damn.

Moving back to the bed, he bent, patting the hand and flicking a chilly glance towards the machine that was breathing for him before shaking his head and, with one last dirty look at the tube shoved down his throat, he quietly murmured, "Don't worry… big brother JR's still watching out for her, okay?"

Waiting for a moment or so, just in case he decided to do something to respond, JR finally moved away, checking all of the photo frames one last time before heading to the door and, as quietly as possible, he slipped back out, running his hand down the smooth wood of the door before turning and biting back an angry swear when he found his ex-wife staring at him.

Picking up the sight of the bag swinging from one wrist, he scowled and, grabbing her arm, yanked her as far away from the hospital room as he could. "JR—" He shook her hard enough to shut her up and then shoved her into an elevator, stepping in after her, shutting the doors behind him. Turning back to her, he grimaced at the look she was giving him, the way her eyes were filling up.

"It doesn't work on me anymore, dear ex-wife of mine."

Although her face didn't change, something in her eyes did, something growing angrier at the back of that pretty gaze that gave away what she really was. Twisting her hand, she caught the bag in her fist, clenching her jaw before snapping, "Not everything is about our marriage, JR… I came to visit him."

"Yeah, right…" Even if he could have hidden the revulsion in the voice, he wouldn't of, not everything that had happened, not all of those things that had built up all because of her and her games, her little choices that she never wanted to face. Look where they had gotten them all, look where they had gotten him…

"He's family, JR—"

"You don't give a damn about your family, Babe, never have and never will. All you care about is your precious Mama and her wants and needs… who gives a damn about your son when Krystal needs her precious baby-doll?" He flicked a glance at her finger, snorted, "You put that on just for me?"

"I still love you."

JR snorted quietly, studying Babe with cool eyes and a slightly disgusted smile. "I gave them orders not to let you in, Babe… what? You pull a few of Jamie's strings to get him to give you a way into his room?" His eyes narrowed, took a small step forward, noting the way she jerked backwards. "No, Jamie doesn't like people like you anymore, does he?" He watched her, and then froze, shaking his head in disgust. "You pulled a pity party on Joe, didn't you?"

"I would never—"

"You would and you have, repeatedly—"

"You drove me to it!"

Pausing in mid-step, he turned back from where he had been about to step out, giving her a look of shock and awe. "You never stop, do you?" She must have finally seen something in his face for she stepped back again, crossing her arms around her middle. "I didn't shove you down on top of Madden, Babe."

Heading out of the elevator, he stopped again, turning back one last time and regarding her with a surprisingly pitying expression. "I've always been a sucker for punishment so I've always wondered, were you top or was it Madden? I mean, I know you like being on top… yet I can't quite see Doogie Howser being all that happy about being under anyone…"

The look on her face, as if she had been slapped, was painfully sweet and, shaking his head tiredly, he reached in and pressed the button for the ground floor, waving until the doors closed and she vanished. There it was again, drudged up with her disgusting game of pretending to care about him…

Silently, his eyes went to the room and he swallowed down the sudden edge of emotion, shoving hands in the pockets of his jeans. But, no, he had to handle all of this… taking a deep breath, he turned away from the room and took off down the hall of the hospital, deciding to use the stairs on the other side of the hospital.

Damn.

* * *

Grabbing up his jeans from where they lay along the edge of the bed, he began tugging them on, standing just long enough to fasten them before settling back down. Rubbing his face and then around to the back of his neck, he shook himself out, feeling himself knot up now that he was going back. 

Ironic, wasn't it?

And then he stopped, sucking in breath quietly as he heard the smallest shift of sheets and, grimacing, he looked over his shoulder, meeting the brilliant pair of eyes staring at him from the bed, soft strands of hair clinging to her face and neck. Fingers itching to flick them away from that face of hers, he looked back away from her.

"You said you would stay a few hours."

He shook his head, not wanting this again because, if he was honest with himself, it was getting harder; getting harder to not care and harder to not stay here, with her. Standing, he searched and found his shirt on the floor. Pulling it on, he flicked the buttons closed, ignoring the chilly look of hurt now being leveled at him.

"I gotta get home."

"You said—"

"I can't!" Turning away from her again, away from those aching eyes of hers, he pulled on his jacket and then began shoving his feet into his boots, bending for a moment to make a few adjustments. Finally straightening, he found her climbing out of the bed, sheet wrapped around her like some robe, stilling when she was on her feet.

Damn it…

"Don't do this now, okay?" Moving past her, he grabbed up his wallet and keys from the desk and, opening the drawer, he checked there was nothing else. Good, wonderful, perfect… turning away from her, he headed to the door of the hotel before he stopped and turned back, taking her in, drinking her in for a few moments.

Then, more roughly, "I gotta get home."


	7. Chapter 7

_**Stupid**_

_Help, I have done it again  
I have been here many times before  
Hurt myself again today  
And, the worst part is there's no-one else to blame _

Be my friend  
Hold me, wrap me up  
Unfold me  
I am small  
I'm needy  
Warm me up  
And breathe me

Ouch I have lost myself again  
Lost myself and I am nowhere to be found,  
Yeah I think that I might break  
I've lost myself again and I feel unsafe

Be my friend  
Hold me, wrap me up  
Unfold me  
I am small  
I'm needy  
Warm me up  
And breathe me

- Sia, 'Breathe me'

_

* * *

Chapter Seven_

* * *

Zach understood solitude all too well. 

Surrounded by maids and tutors, he had still been alone, unbearably so. By the time his mother had finally faded completely, like the last lingering traces of sunlight as night descended, he had fallen into an almost unspeakable silence, locked in an existence that could never be mistaken for a life.

In a way, the solitude he had found outside of his father's sight had been cleaner somehow, and, for a few months at least, he had felt free and grounded at the same time, in some strange way he could never fully express. But it had still been solitude and, again, he had accepted it, adjusted to it, and he had gone still and silent on the inside just like before.

It was better that way.

He had been alone before, always before yet, despite how hard he searched back through jarringly clear moments and the little pieces that were his existence, he found no real moment when he had truly felt whole, no single heartbeat of time when he hadn't felt that empty nothingness had it felt like this.

Except, the solitude had never _hurt_ like this.

* * *

Tossing keys onto the table by the inside of the door, he checked the lock again before flicking on the lights to his apartment, and then moved across the room, slipping into the kitchen area and setting the paper bag on the kitchen counter. In a few quick movements and several flicks of his wrists, his food was put away. 

Grabbing up the Cuban sandwich he had brought with him and the water bottle, he snatched the pills off of the top of the fridge and picked out his, setting them on the counter, replacing the bottles and tossing them back. They were a lot less than they had once been, and no longer overpowered everything that he was and wanted one day to be.

Yet they helped, at least a bit.

Clearing his throat, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, he grabbed the water bottle and his food and headed back into the living room, dropping onto the couch and putting feet on the coffee table as he waited for the medication to kick in again, dragging a few strips of sliced turkey to nibble on, simply because he was supposed to.

He was never hungry these days and while he might like to blame some of it on the medication, that was being adjusted now, he wasn't stupid enough to really believe that. He hadn't been allowed to be stupid when he had been young, hadn't been allowed to be anything other than afraid and he had never lost the shattered but still sharp intelligence that the horrors had created in him.

No, his loss of appetite had everything to do with his brother.

Picking at a nail, staring dully at the blinking light on the answering machine, he unhappily regarded it with eyes that were darker than they should be, movements becoming progressively jerkier as he grew more distressed. Finally, closing his eyes for a moment, he reached out and pressed the right button, starting up the messages.

"_Hey, it's Jamie; we need to talk about Ryan and that means now. I don't want you pulling your broody 'no-one-understands-me' crap right now, okay? Maggie just called and told me about your brother and I don't like it. Yeah, fine, I'm not a doctor yet but we have to talk so you better call me back or I'm going to come over and beat you over the head with a pipe."_ There a pause and he knew that the other was most likely looking shamed. _"Trust me, Jon, it hurts like Hell."_

Shaking his head, a slightest touch of a grin making his lips twitch in silent amusement, he leaned back a little, relaxing a tiny bit. He took a swig of water, feeling oddly comforted by the worry that he was so unused to and slightly annoyed that Erin had apparently told. Still, he could never be angry with her, never, not after how much they had gone through, just the two of them.

"_Jonathon, hey, it's your brother, I though we were getting together for a few hours today, huh? Just the Lavery men—"_ Jonathon flinched at that, unhappy memories flickering at the back of his mind uneasily, taunting him with their refusal to fade away. Jerking upwards and towards the message machine, he swiped at it, knocking it to the floor where it went silent, a slight blessing that had come too late.

Kneading his forehead with the heel of his hand, feeling a steady ache that was once again blooming in the light of more of those words, he swallowed roughly. His eyes flicked in the direction of the kitchen, where his pills were waiting for him, another thing that he, according to Ryan, didn't need.

But he didn't want to break again, not like that again, never again.

* * *

Jamie Martin was only now beginning to realize that he was, for lack of a better word, a complete and total fool. 

Later on, listening to Little Jamie and what Little Jamie thought of when Babe entered the picture, he had decided that everything bad in the world fell on the shoulders of the Chandlers and, of course, that Babe and her mother were God's gift to the benighted world that had been slowly unraveling before they had come to Pine Valley.

He didn't know what pain was, not like Maggie and Frankie had growing up, watching their mother chose the bottle over them every night. He didn't know what JR had been through, not really, fighting to find some kind of foundation only to lose it every time when everyone dumped their marital problems on his young shoulders and expect him to be just fine with all that. He just didn't know and had been too much of a spoiled child to see it because, of course, no one had ever suffered the way he had.

That had been before.

Leaving the locker-room of the hospital, half his attention on his cell phone, awaiting Lavery's call, he hefted his work bag more carefully and then headed off, knowing his way by heart after the past months of daily visits. He stopped once to get himself a coffee and a pack of stale peanuts before finally reaching the hospital room and, signing the required papers, went in, immediately spotting the new frame.

And then he spotted the figure stretched out on the hard couch against the wall beneath the window, curled up under her jacket and only the tangled mess of blonde hair and her bare feet visible; her shoes were by the couch, along with her bag. for a moment, he thought he might make it back out without waking her but, opening the door, she stirred, rolling halfway to stare at him with blurry blue eyes.

"Jamie?"

He gave a helpless shrug then yelped when some of the coffee spattered his hand, shifting hands and waving one furiously, biting down the insane urge to apologize to the figure hooked to the respirator. Hell, if he made enough noise, maybe he would get so pissed off, he'd wake up just to tell them off for disturbing his beauty sleep.

Moving forward, setting his bag beside hers, he took a seat on the area she had shifted aside to make for him, setting coffee and empty peanut bag on the table next to it. Strange that he was the only one she seemed open to talking to these days, now that Kate was back where she belonged.

If he didn't know her as well as he did, he would have accused her of playing God but, no, this all came from the guilt. Looking away from her, from the gaze now once again pinned on the figure, he swallowed down emotion, something that JR had always been better at and then nodded to the new photo, asking her if she has brought it.

A slight shake of a head before she answered, quietly, "JR brought it this morning, just when visiting hours started. From what the nurse on-duty said, it looked like we missed each other by about five minutes or so. He brought it in, spent a few minutes in here and then left pretty quick."

Which, of course, Dixie was grateful for.

He fiddled with his jeans, uneasy around his one-time step-mother and then looked at her again, studying her with the same mix of awe and sadness that he always felt when he saw her. Jerking his eyes away from her face, still bleached and thin from too much stress and that touch of self-revulsion that she carried around with her everywhere these days, he looked at the comatose patient.

It wasn't supposed to end like this.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Stupid**_

_

* * *

Chapter Eight_

_

* * *

Greg was dead._

_It was enough to make her break but here she was, fighting to get into his records room before they found his body, about to sob in agonizing frustration. Finally, blessedly, she got it open and, much to her anguish, there was something shoved against it. Dropping the tools she had been using to get the lock open, she braced herself and all the weight in her small body against the door, shoving furiously._

_By the time she got in, managed to wiggle her way into the large room, she was short of breath, tears were streaming down her cheeks and she had a fine sheen of sweat sticking strands of blonde hair to her face and neck. Shutting the door slowly, she took a step back, flicking on the light and, at her next step towards the records, she went down._

_Hard._

_Her foot caught on something at her heel and, the last step tipping her, she slammed down to the floor hard enough to black out her vision for a moment, breath leaving her lungs in a short and ragged grunt. After a heartbeat, she was staring at the ceiling and she lay there, struggling to recover all the air she had lost and trying to figure out what it was that was sticking to her back and soaking through her clothes._

_It was warm but cooling and, frowning in confusion, she raised one hand from its place on the floor, staring for a few moments dumbly at the blood that decorated fingers, a garish bright red that made her eyes hurt and her stomach lurch, a gag rising in her throat for a moment before she fought it back down._

_Was she bleeding?_

_No, it wasn't her… not her blood… there was too much here, too much blood…_

_Something locked in her and she dropped her hand, swallowing several times before she moved slowly, staring stupidly for a moment, trying to connect what she was staring at and what it meant because it simply wasn't right… it didn't mean anything to her brain but her heart?_

_Finally, the image sinking into both parts of her and settling, burning itself into her mind until the day she died and, as she at last gave in to what it was, a shudder ran through her and the nausea hit her again, harder than before, the gag choking her as she tried to draw in more oxygen even while her body rebelled at what it was seeing._

_Jarringly, suddenly, with death-scented air back in her lungs, Dixie screamed._

* * *

"So… Kendall has to save Zach in order to get Zach to save her?" 

"That's right."

Bianca messaged fingertips against her temples, closing her eyes and breathing quietly in silent irritation. Finally, frustration leashed and under wraps—at least until Josh's next idiotic comment—she opened her eyes, looking back at him, now sitting up and brushing crumbs off his dark shirt.

"Where are you going?" she asked in confusion.

"I'm a man of action, Bianca and that doesn't mean just in the bedroom… although I'm damn good in there, too, trust me." Bianca snorted, rolling large dark eyes and he gave her a mocking little bow, pulling his jacket off the back of his chair and pulling it on, adjusting it once or twice before moving around the table and, as he passed her, he gave her a little pat on the head, as if she was some kitten who had gotten a claw in the carpet.

She didn't enjoy the sudden burst of metaphor and she shook her head furiously, the hair tucked behind her ears coming loose and flying across her face. Almost throwing down the empty coffee cup in her hands, she jumped up, letting the napkin flutter to the floor as she followed him through the boarding house and, when he stopped on a dime in front of Mrs. Fargate, she slammed into him full-force and grabbed onto his shoulders, blinking a few times in dazed confusion.

Josh must work out like a loon, she decided, shaking her head again and rubbing her face where it had hit his shoulder hard enough to make her worry that she had perhaps broken a nose. Irritation faded in the meeting of face versus extremely ripped back, she moved a few steps, watching with incredulous eyes as Josh took the small paper bag of some kind of food.

What kind of warped alternate universe had she stepped into?

And then he was gone, taking the final steps toward the door before stopping, door half-open to look over his shoulder and lift his eyebrows in amusement that matched his wolf grin, dark eyes glittering with a disturbing kind of humor. Maybe it was stupid to trust him… he had drugged their mother and, well, look at how he had reacted in the aftermath of that other, more personal family explosion…

But he loved Kendall…

"Let me just get my coat," she snapped, silently accepting her role as sidekick as she spun on her heel and tromped back to the other room, bending to grab coat and purse, straightening and then stopping, going still as her eyes caught the photo frame on the mantle, the sudden sight of it at this time clogging her throat and making her heart ache.

But, then, her heart had been aching for so long now…

Turning away from the image—Bianca and Kendall and Miranda, the Kane girls, with their happy smiles and no idea what would happen in the next few years—she took off with an extra kick in her step, following Josh out of the boarding house and into his car, only realizing in the middle of her first ever 'Josh-is-the-scariest-driver-ever' lesson that she could have driven herself.

* * *

"The mini-Chandler is out like a light, boss." Finally finishing whatever it was he was writing, he straightened, pinning her with cool blue eyes as he capped the pen and dropped it to the side. Moving deeper into the room, Erin slid her hands into the back pockets of her slacks, shifting nervously as she watched him come around the desk. 

"How did the errands go?"

"That's for me to know and you to find out," he chuckled, stopping his movements and leaning back against the desk, studying her intently with cool eyes and a slight grin touching his face. "What?" she asked awkwardly, laying a hand across her chest, where his eyes had settled and were still locked on. Not even her breasts, even… just her chest and neck.

"Are you coming to the wedding?"

Okay, she hadn't been expecting that… she shook her head, slightly baffled, before shrugging cautiously. "Your father's wedding?" A light nod, an elegant shrug of broad shoulders as he pushed off the desk and straightened, taking a few steps toward her, making her suddenly feel like a cornered animal.

JR wasn't a big man, not really but he was compact and he was, well, firm— oh, that had been the wrong thought, hadn't it? Quickly clearing her throat and looking away from those damn eyes of his, she realized she was waving one hand in front of her face and dropped it quickly, looking back to him and spotting a grin on his face and something primitive in his eyes.

Holy… crap…

"Yep," she squeaked finally, moving a few nervous steps back, both grateful and irritated that he didn't follow. She nodded furiously, absently, probably looking like the bobble-head that Lily had brought her for her birthday, a mock version of the redhead's beloved Steven Tyler… odd that the girl knew her so damn well. "Yep, I'll be at the wedding, right on time, watching the little guy—"

"You'll be with me?"

Erin was surprised to realize that her head hadn't popped off and fallen to the floor as she stared at him with wide eyes and a sudden insane urge to rush at him and do something extremely inappropriate between a man and his nanny… or, well, a man and his son's nanny… he wasn't Jude Law…

There was that look again, damn it…

"Yeah, I'll be here… just, um, call me when your dad finally sets that date and I, uh, I'll be there!"

Thus, with no grace whatsoever, shaky legs and whispering swears at herself under her breath, Erin Lavery ran like a baby, streaking past Brooke coming in and crashing through a brush in the front yard in an insane urge to dodge the small, angry looking blonde coming up the drive.

Oh, she was such a bad nanny…


	9. Chapter 9

_**Stupid**_

_

* * *

Chapter Nine_

* * *

"_You need to wear it."_

"_I don't need to wear it!" she shrieked, and then shrieked again, stumbling in the debris and nearly tumbling into the wreckage of her mother's precious ball, her feet twisting, broken heels failing her. Hands grabbed her, locked around her arms, caught her and pulled her back and she only followed because she had to, her balance shifting again and she staggered back into Josh Madden's arms._

_Her mother's ex-producer took his chance, wrapping the pathetic excuse for a rescue blanket around her, and she struggled to hold back angry tears of frustration, failing as they slipped, streaking the thick mess of smeared make-up and sweat and dust that decorated her face. She stopped struggling, eyes rooted to the shapes moving before her, digging— digging out her—_

_Digging out Zach._

_Ethan and Simone… of course, they— they mattered, too… but Zach… she tried again to wiggle out of his grasp but he wasn't letting go and she made an angry noise when more of the tears slipped out, wanting to reach up to rub them away but unable to with Josh keeping her wrapped up in the blanket._

_Maybe, if he would let her go… she could help…?_

_With a sudden jarring awareness of how quiet it suddenly was where they were digging, she threw herself forward and was jerked back harder than before and then lifted, and half-carried and half-dragged back, now shrieking like some madwoman, legs kicking and thrashing, unable to breathe with how hard he was holding her._

_He must have picked up on it for, some seconds later, he suddenly relaxed his grip, not by much but by just enough and she drew in a breath for a moment before letting it out in yet another scream, louder than the others, some strangled word that she knew but couldn't get out right now, not with her heartbeat pounding out everything else._

"_Zach!"_

* * *

It was so white. 

Staring at the blindingly bright dress silently, she reached up; rubbing fingers harshly across her face unhappily, her gaze was almost hateful. Finally, turning away from the dress, she stood there, drawing in a slow breath and then letting it out slowly. By the time she had eased the painful knot in her chest, a good period of time had passed.

Kendall cracked open the bathroom door, peering into the bedroom, eyes still and wary as she watched him, waiting uneasily for any movement. Finally, with a shuddering sigh of relief, she realized he was really asleep and shut the door, stepping back into the middle of the bathroom, sliding hands up and down the satiny cloth of her nightgown, fingers moving up to tug at the neckline that dipped deep between her breasts.

Didn't matter, she still felt smothered.

When her forearm struck her breast in its jerking movements, she drew in a sharp breath of physical pain and then bit down on the inside of her cheek, shaking her head angrily. They always hurt horribly now and only ached more, even though everybody said she would get used to it… yeah, everybody said… everybody said everything, didn't they?

Refusing to look at that empty reflection in the mirror, swallowing down all that emotion, she strangled it down, beat it back savagely, smothering it before it bubbled up and she broke beneath it. Quickly flicking away the slight touches of moisture that had escaped her tight control, she shook herself, trying to loosen up any other remains of all of that stuff she had in her.

What was any of it worth, when it all broke?

* * *

"You going to eat that, boss?" 

He shook his head, not raising his eyes from his work, whatever it was, and Edie bit back her sigh of exhaustion, a bit of her strength fading slightly as she moved deeper into the office, approaching his desk, pausing when her eyes fell on what he was staring at, smoothing fingers across slightly. She recognized it.

Sharp eyes met her, not angry and not hateful and not ugly but sharp, edged with warning and long years as the closest thing to his confidant had taught her well. She caught the edges of the breakfast tray, lifted it and moved away from his desk, heading back out the door unhappily, holding back frustrated words.

Wouldn't any good anyway…

She glanced back once, watching him, once again returned to his silent reverie of the ex-wife. Twitching her shoulders unhappily, shaking her head, Edie set the tray on her desk, pushing it backwards with her hip. Shifting attention back to the office that the hermit had taken up residence in—and that was what he was these days, damn it all to Hell—she rubbed the heel of her hand into her face furiously, wanting to stomp her feet and scream.

He'd been quiet before, always been quiet but this? This wasn't just quiet, this was like some silent death, something crushing and devastating that was slowly and not-so slowly hollowing him out and, for a moment or so, she violently hated Kendall Hart. Except, no, not her fault either, not if what some of what she was hearing had any basis in truth.

When he'd come to her, so many months ago, showing her the ring and asking what she thought of it, not as a loyal employee but as an actual woman, she'd suddenly realized that, hey, this was actually something, wasn't it? Zach, as in, her boss, picking out a ring like that? And, being the sometimes stupid romantic that she'd never admit out loud that she was, she had felt an insane kind of flutter at the idea of little Viva La Kanes taking slow control over both Pine Valley and Las Vegas because, hey, she'd be their favorite auntie secretary, right?

Damn it…

Now, though… she crossed arms over her chest, looked again at that damn door and then shook herself harshly, forcefully, feeling the first touches of emotion stinging at her eyes. Reaching up, rubbing her eyes with her fingers furiously, wiping away any touches of that moisture—at least while at work—she turned away and grabbed up her bag, fleeing the office and taking off towards the lounge, intending to stuff herself with Crunch bars and Reese's Cups… she really, really needed chocolate right now.

Since she clearly wasn't going to get her boss back anytime soon…


	10. Chapter 10

_**Stupid**_

_Chapter Ten_

_

* * *

Aidan was nowhere to be found._

_Shaking and feeling terribly alone, Erin watched two of the shapes digging, working and, with a savage shake of herself, she burst forward, snapping under some private pressure. Hesitating as she moved closer, she finally stopped, watching as the man digging kept going, only realizing she was there when she cautiously asked, "Who are you looking for?"_

_Blue eyes stared back at her from a mask of dirt and blood, and he, breathing heavily, watched her warily for a few moments, and his stare, though slightly hazy with pain and blood loss, was unerringly sharp and intelligent, and, looking past him, she caught sight of an older woman, standing as regally as a queen even as she helped the digging._

"_Dad."_

_One word, a last flicking glance up her shape before he went back to his task and she found that other woman just watching her, staring at her, and then one hand, dirty and bloody and still beautiful, offered itself to her and she moved forward without thinking, stepping quickly around to grab that older hand and, finally getting a good hold, she began to dig with them._

_Jonathon was fine… he was fine and she needed to do something, needed to help everybody the way she had never gotten to help him, keep him safe and she could do something now and so she did, helping the man and the woman find his father, whoever he was, somewhere under here…_

_She had to be useful…_

* * *

Babe Carey looked ugly when she got hateful.

It was something that Erin had discovered the first time the blonde had made her feelings about the redhead known, publicly and loudly, essentially going after the youngest Lavery like a dog after a bone. When Babe Carey got hateful, her eyes got dark and empty and her face twisted and even her forcefully sweet voice got harsh and callous.

This time was no different.

Standing before Erin with her blonde hair pulled back from her face and her fingers knotting up the bag in her hand, Babe Carey had neatly and flawlessly cornered Erin in one of the far sides of the hospital, away from the staff and visitors and, unhappily, Erin wondered how long it would take for Babe to hide her body.

With her luck, Pine Valley's self-appointed whiner/martyr would manage to lock her in closet or throw her down the stairs or throw her into the big basement—hospitals had basements, right?— or, better yet, she'd get cracked on the head with some kind of pipe, get selective amnesia and run off to Tahiti or something and she wouldn't be found in time to go to the wedding with JR.

Not that it mattered or anything because, of course, it didn't…

Erin shook herself forcefully, a few strands of red hair settling on her face and she smoothed hands nervously down the fabric of her clothes—a few favorite items she had found while shopping at one of the thrift stores in the surprisingly large town—she took a deep breath and carefully counted to ten, something she had long years of practice with.

"Having breathing issues, sweetie?"

_Yep, really harsh and callous…_

Staring at her for a few moments, biting the inside of her cheek, Erin finally got a hold on that building anger, something she always hated feeling and managed to let out the breath she been holding, wondering why Babe had once again tracked her down to some place for her freaky form of girl talk… she thought she had dodged her by going through that bush…

"What do you want, Babe."

There, that was simple enough for the both of them, right?

Arms crossed over a chest, small shoulders were twitched in dislike and silent fury flashed over her face and, whoa, there was that ugliness again. "I want you away from my son… you, and that psycho brother of yours." Seeing the look on Erin's features, like a slap, she smirked to herself, lifting an eyebrow.

She didn't try to hide what she was anymore.

"Jonathon is mentally ill, Babe, something that Mr. Chandler and his family is aware of and we have come to our own resolutions dealing with his illness and any connection it might have to me being able to take care of Little Adam." Erin forced a smile, hating the anger she could feel building at her temples but unable to completely keep it out of her voice. "And," she added, going to turn away, "Jonathon keeps his distance from _JR's_ son."

"He's my son, too," Babe snapped, grabbing her and yanking her back and, predictably, Erin reacted horribly, spinning, jerking her arm out of that viselike grip and shoving Babe back, taking a few steps away from the blonde to loosen up the sudden clenching of her ribs around her heart, making breathing difficult.

"Oh, really, Ms. 'Your son drowned but I'm going off to Argentina with your brother?'" Erin hissed, hands beginning to shake slightly with fury. She was angry, horribly so, and she took a few deep breaths, trying to ease the way she felt at the moment, trying to beat it back down, but it was hard with how Babe kept backing her into a corner, smothering her and cutting off her ways out of the corridor.

_Jesus, if looks could kill_… Erin took an involuntary step backwards when Babe took a quick lung, almost tripping and falling. The bag was thrown down and the blonde took a few more steps forward, effectively causing Erin to flinch, too many images in her head connecting horribly with the movement.

"Babe?"

Said pig-wannabe froze, hesitating before turning, finding herself the object of the cool stare of Dixie Cooney, standing behind her, looking as worn and weary as she always did but there was an edge there suddenly, a glint of something deeper than her usual shattering grief, something that sized Babe up and said, with unshakable strength: _I can take you, you two-faced, whiny, cookie-cutter bitch with bad hair._

Erin shook herself, the quick movement attracting that stare, one that flicked along her, taking in the clenching of hands in her clothes and the paleness of fury on her face and they narrowed, shifted back to Babe. The change, a few moments later, was almost frightening.

Arms crossed over her chest, the spine and back straightened, the eyes chilled to blue ice, the legs shifted into an almost fighting stance. When Dixie spoke again, there was nothing sweet or gentle about her voice, nothing but a vicious edge that, when heard by Babe, caused the younger woman to jerk in slight surprise. "What are you doing with my grandson's nanny?"

"We were talking—"

"Looked more like threatening to me, Babe," she said brightly, all-too pleasantly, tilting her head and, despite how exhausted and weary and worn that body was now, even months after everything had finally gone quiet, it still seemed as if whole pieces of her were missing, as if bits and pieces of her core were gone…

Erin flicked a glance at the open door that Dixie had slunk out of and shook her head, deciding to stop being so morbid…

Not that anyone could blame her, really, could they?

"So, Babe, why _were_ you threatening the woman who takes such good care of your son?" Dixie cocked her head again, lifted one blonde eyebrow and asked, more gaily, "Or have you just run out of boys to play with and so dropped by to see my ex-husband?" A pause, a slight smile that made Erin feel oddly comforted, recognizing the edge it held from the countless times she had seen JR flash it. "Which is it, sweet ex-daughter-in-law?"

Greg had changed her and being found that night had changed her so much more…

Erin took Babe's speechlessness moment for a blessing and cautiously moved up a step, holding up the bag for JR's mother, for Dixie, smiling nervously, feeling like normal now that all that anger had thankfully dissipated. "Here, Ms… Ms. Cooney—" Seeing a bit of bafflement, she elaborated, "It's, um— it's something from Ms. English… for the wedding," she added hastily.

Babe made a noise of vehemence but the sharp glance she got from Dixie in answer made her blanch, falling back a nervous step and smoothing down the blouse she wore, showing off her new money happily, in some vague attempt to intimidate them. Erin never found money all that interesting and Dixie, of course, had enough money—both from her uncle Palmer and from other avenues—to make Babe's head spin.

Dixie, however, had no need to flaunt it.

* * *

Jonathon's coffee, harsh and bitter and black, fit his mood and he studied it intently for long minutes, watching the cooling dark liquid with equally cool dark eyes. Every few minutes, remembering his pretense, he lifted it up a few inches and gave it a light swish, just enough movement to keep people from thinking he was planning some bombing or planning a shoot-out, no matter how ruined or broken this side of the town was.

_No worries, folks, just your friendly neighborhood serial killer, out for a morning coffee, waiting for the Pretty Boy!_

The flyaway thought, flicking through his still-fragile mind like some dark beast, made him grimace, reaching up and pinching the bridge of his nose, the sleeping headache in the back of his mind playing along the edges of his consciousness with metaphorical fingers. With a harsh exhalation, he finally took a swig of the java—never did understand that name for it, anyway—and then swallowed it down, shaking himself.

Ah, there was the pretty-boy now…

Jamie Martin stuck out like a sore thumb, shockingly so, and Jon rolled his eyes slightly, watching in a mix of amusement and pity as the younger man began looking around nervously, not having any idea where the Hell he was and immediately being targeted by some of the of the more… loose women who spent their nights on the corner across the street, flaunting leg and cleavage and anything else they had to make ends meet.

Just as the Martin seemed ready to run right out of the place, Jonathon finally gave in and raised one arm, signaling him over and then choking on a laugh at the blatant relief on Martin's young and painfully naïve face as he practically bolted over, throwing himself down across from Jonathon and nearly folding himself in half in an attempt to hide himself from Marina's gaze, who stood across the room still, knowing the heir of Phoebe Tyler when she saw him.

Yeah, Marina was actually a good one…

Shaking his head, he tossed back the last half of his coffee, throwing it all back in a few large swallows, coughing slightly as he dropped the already cracked mug to the sticky, grimy table that Martin was now regarding with a childish amount of revulsion, looking as if he might gag at any moment.

When he looked up and saw the remains of something hanging from the lamp, he did gag.

Poor pretty-boy…

"What are we doing here?" he hissed lethally, when he could speak, despite the green tinge of the skin and the way one large hand covered everything but his face. "I mean… I said we could meet at my apartment or even at the hospital." Nervous eyes took in the shape of Marina beginning to slink towards them, bugging out as he scooted deeper into the shadows he sat in. "This is not a suitable place for a young doctor."

"Ah, good thing there isn't one in here," Jonathon said with a slight smirk and a pointed look at the intern, who immediately blushed harshly, clearing his throat nervously a few times, shooting Jonathon a dirty look like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. It just made Jonathon grin, a real grin that felt strange but okay at the same time. "Trust me, Martin!"

"What about you?"

"What about me?" he asked with more calm than he felt, picking at the empty mug with his fingers, pointedly ignoring the surprisingly intense gaze peering at him from across the table. "Jonathon—" He cut him off, angry and slightly frightened, taking a shaky breath before snapping, "You don't— it doesn't have anything to do with you."

"You missed two of your sessions, Jon."

_Strange, to see caring like that_… and yet, there it was, a touch of genuine caring in those usually foolishly naïve eyes. Here was someone who had no idea what pain was, not like he and others did and yet around he had run, speaking of his horrible suffering and his so terrible life at the hands of the Chandlers and look how he had ended up.

Fascination.

Jonathon, shaking his head tiredly, stood, yanking a wallet from his back pocket and ripping out several bills, tossing them down and, with a nod towards Marina—who fluttered her fingers back at him in girlish delight—he fled, easily escaping the grab of two large hands… he had learned to avoid such grabs and now was no different.

Emerging into harshly bright morning sunlight and quickly taking off before Martin could follow him, he had never felt so horribly empty.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Stupid**_

_Chapter Eleven_

_

* * *

Feeling dulled and oddly lifeless, Josh carefully set his hands on the still form, having stopped his attempts now that the body was becoming cold. Swallowing, eyes closing, he let out a harsh breath and then inhaled… and regretted it when the scent of blood, shockingly powerful in his father's office, filled his nostrils._

_There was no bringing him back, he thought achingly, shaking his head slowly, weary of thought but unable to stop it._

_He'd been killed instantly, or, at least, almost instantly…_

_Moving away from the body, he began rubbing his red hands on his slacks, an absent-minded movement as he stared at the corpse with dark eyes and a strange sense of helplessness that felt all-too familiar. Coughing, sighing, Josh turned forcefully away from the body, refusing to let himself look at it any longer._

_Embracing the numbness that fell around him, filled him, Josh finally moved to the phone on the desk and, taking a seat in his father's now-empty chair, he dialed the number, noting the splotches of dark red that decorated the numbers as he dialed, crimson shadows of what had once been a life._

_A twisted life but, still…_

_His throat, aching with the force of holding in all that panic after finding him, was beginning to ease, his grief fading into the background now that he was going to be calling in other people, now that he wouldn't be alone any longer, waiting to come back to him when he was alone._

_Later, later, later… later, Josh, later… later…_

_It was always later, wasn't it…?_

_He waited, with a rare and terrifying patience, for his call to get through and, when it finally did, he spoke with a chilling calmness, stating, "The body's here." This done, he set the phone back in the cradle, staring at it as screaming started in his head, high-pitched and terrified, the same as it had once before, after they had called him in._

_And then, with a start, he realized it wasn't the same screaming and his head rose, eyes flicking away from the phone and towards the open door, to the darkness that filled the rest of his father's clinic, at the female voice rising even as he listened, growing louder and more panicked and, shaking himself, he stood, moving towards the door._

_There he paused, realizing how close it was and, looking back, he stared at the body, at all the blood on that ground, a mess that could never be cleaned up now and closed his eyes again, blocking out the screams for a moment before his control finally stopped and he whirled, moving out of the office and towards the room so very close, where the screams were coming from._

* * *

In the dim light of the bedroom, sitting on the end of the bed, Kendall folded sheet of paper once and then twice, pulling fingers across it slowly. With legs folded under her and not aware of how cold she felt in the thin satin of her nightgown, she then slipped the letter into the envelope, staring at it for long moments.

She should stop this, stop acting so foolish but… but this was the only time she could feel…

Sighing softly, shaking her head slowly, Kendall closed the envelope, gripping it in both hands for long moments, pathetically grateful for the silence of the penthouse, something that was painfully fleeting these days. With another, more forceful remembrance of her plans later, she stood, heading quickly across the room and to the closet, opening it and stepping in, raising her eyes and taking in the dark shadow of the box above her.

Not taking it down, she stretched to her toes and, with a flick of a wrist, dropped the latest letter into the box, holding the edge of the cardboard with shaking hands before, with a short sound of pain, she pulled her hand away, taking a few steps back and then spinning when the door opened.

"What're you doing?"

Smoothing hands down her nightgown, she gazed at her husband for long moments, fingers fisting in the material and pressing it closer to her body, some insane urge to keep it on right now, not wanting to be touched by anyone and, realizing that he was beginning to look irritated, she managed, "Just checking that I'm not forgetting anything.'

"Good." Shrugging out of his jacket, Ryan moved closer, tossing it down and then wrapping arms around her waist, pulling and tugging her close to himself, kissing her and, though she had seen that movement, she still drew back slightly when he took control of her mouth, possessively swallowing her.

It took a few moments, but she finally managed to pull away from him, bracing hands against his chest and pushing away, groaning slightly from the effort and then averting her face, catching him frowning as he released her. Shifting in his hold, but not trying to get away, Kendall looked away, gazing at the closet. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," she muttered, shaking her head and, when he kissed her again, she returned it as well as she could, not fighting it and half-hoping it would mean something this time, almost waiting for something to spark or ignite in her, waiting for some kind of response, however weak it might be.

And, as always, despite her best attempts, there was nothing.

Ryan stepped back, turning and starting to pull off his shirt, losing all interest in her as he tossed his shirt away and started towards the bathroom, asking over his shoulder, "You all packed for the trip?" At her nod, he took the final step into the bathroom and she heard the shower start up, water pounding the floor. "Chris is still with Maggie, right?"

"Yeah…" she murmured, nodding dully as she moved to the closet and stretched, shoving the box back, even though she wasn't actually worried about him finding it. Turning away finally, she gazed at the bed for long moments before, with a forceful shake of her head, she glanced at the bathroom, listening to him move around inside. "Where were you?"

Silence, stillness for a moment and she shook her head, more slowly, swallowing. When his voice came back, there was something defensive and harsh about it; despite the way he popped his head out of the bathroom and grinned at her, she saw nothing there that came from caring. "I was checking a few things about the trip."

Kendall nodded, agreeing silently, submitting as she settled on the edge of the bed, laying hands on her lap and staring at her reflection, what she could see of it from where she sat, a shadow in the shadows and she flinched when she met her own eyes, looking away, at the open door of the bedroom, where light poured in.

Hurt to breathe, hurt to think, hurt to be here, walking around and making herself care… making herself not care… making herself…

Hurt.

_

* * *

This was a dream._

_Still, watching his mother, it made his heart ache in his chest as Zach watched the woman reading, laying back in her bed, stretched out, seemingly swallowed by the heavy covers, ostensibly consumed by the darkness that was her existence and what was left of her dark hair swept back to fall limply across the pillow._

_She glanced up, raised one eyebrow, worn green eyes flickering with sympathy as she nodded to the tray that he held in a white-knuckled grip. "Are you going to bring me my food or are you just going to stand there all night, staring at me like I have two heads?" She paused, tilted her head and smiled indulgently._

_Moving forward, he set up the table, organizing the food once or twice more as she marked her page and set the book aside, the sight of those wasted hands making him swallow roughly. Trying not to look at them, he pulled the napkin off the tray, opened it and, as she chuckled slightly in amusement, he tucked it into the neckline of her dress, passing her the fork and then fiddling with the rose in the vase, convinced that something was wrong._

"_You'd make a wonderful nurse," she commented, for perhaps the five hundredth time, picking at her plate for a moment before finally getting a small bit of food on the end and carefully biting it off the prongs, chewing slowly. Her hands, once strong and lithe things, were claws now, bone white with those jarring blue veins running through them, decorating them like some morbid kind of jewelry._

"_How are you?"_

_A shrug, another small bite being taken and he blinked once or twice at the strangeness of her hand, frowning when he thought he saw—no, no, that was—and then it happened again. As if her hand was some ghostly thing, it seemed to fade for a moment, melting away before flickering back to life, holding onto whatever was left of her wasted existence here._

_He looked away, looked anywhere but at her, seeing it happen again but, when the fork clattered to the plate, his head snapped back and he half-stood, ready to jump forward in a heartbeat to do whatever was needed. And then he stopped, pausing, hesitating, when he saw her staring back at him, smiling sadly. "My poor boy… look at what's been done to you."_

"_Doesn't matter," he whispered raggedly, roughly, blinking back sudden tears as he reach ed out and caught that hand in his, reminding him viciously of some parent holding the hand of a small child, so great was the difference between her wasted hand and his strong and supple hold._

_Again, she seemed to fade, this time seeming to melt away in his grip, no matter how tightly he held her, almost crushing her fingers in an attempt to keep her. It worked for a time and he blinked again, breathing harshly through his mouth as he shook his head, knowing what was going to happen but unable to change anything._

_His head rose and he met her eyes, those once brilliant green eyes that had burned with the heat and the fire that had burned out in his mother long before he had been born… now, it was fading and he flinched when Kendall smiled sadly, cocking her head and curling her fingers through his. "What about me?"_

* * *

His hand, shaking as he struggled to pour the Scotch, finally made him snap from the frustration and he shoved the glass away, turning away from his desk and taking a long swig from the bottle itself, grimacing and shuddering as it burned away the last visages of his nightmare and the heavy exhaustion that had kept him chained to the nightmare.

Leaning weakly against the counter, he took another swallow, closing his eyes and grunting softly as he tried to use it to erase the images out of his skull, tried to burn them away with the harshness of the alcohol. Didn't work, of course it didn't work, never did work with this particular torment… Jesus Christ, had he tried since this one had first started…

A glance at the clock showed that he had only been asleep for a little more than an hour but that was still too long and, after taking another long swallow from the bottle, he set it aside and reached up, loosening his tie and ripping it from around his neck, tossing it away as he picked back up the bottle.

It was getting harder.

Restlessly, he looked at the liquid rippling in the bottle, rolling his wrist and gazing at it with an agonized gaze as he shook his head furiously, struggling to breathe. When the door opened, he jerked, raising his head and staring at Edie, who stood half in the room, with her bag over one shoulder and, from the looks of it, about ready to head home. "Mr. Slater?"

"Go home, Edie."

For long moments there was silence before, casting him a look of devastating understanding, she sighed, shifted her jacket once and then turned and left the office, clicking the door shut behind her and leaving him alone, again, sinking back into his solitude as the heady alcohol began to loosen up his mind.

Just… hurt…


	12. Chapter 12

_**Stupid** _

Chapter Twelve

* * *

He decided, as he opened his car door and stepped out, that he detested guns right now.

Rubbing his face tiredly, needing nothing so much as a good night's sleep and, from the headache pounding his temples, a good amount of Aspirin, he reached into the pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out the gun, grimacing at how many bullets she had left in the clinic, having spent all of them when she finally snapped.

Popping out the clip, he shook his head unenthusiastically, seeing that, indeed, it was empty. They had all those little pieces of evidence littered around now, all the things that could trace back to her and, far worse than that, he had no idea what had happened to all the rest of them. Two had gone into the bastard…

The rest were God only knew where.

He wiped the clip furiously with a towel he had brought with him, scrubbing at it feverishly as he sought to erase any lingering traces to be followed back to her. The rest of the gun got an identical treatment, his sharp eyesight a plus in the dim light of the night before, finally, he stopped, using the clothe to pick up the pieces and headed into the deeper shadows of the forest.

The clip went under a tree, hidden into a mix of roots and dirt, his fingers tearing up some of the mess and shoving it down, kicking leaves back over it and studying the spot for long moments before turning away and heading for a different spot to get rid of the other piece. He finally found it nearby the remains of what had once been a cabin and, after circling a few times, he crouched and removed a hunk of rotting wood from what had once been a porch.

Even if they did think there was some metal here, there were enough nails and, nearby, a hammer to throw them off and, sighing, he slid it into the spot available, covering it with dirt before replacing the plank of rotted wood, straightening and checking once or twice, nodding to himself before he turned around and headed to his car, climbing in and stowing the rag under his seat, which he would toss in the fireplace when he got home.

Now, the question would become whether or not Tad Martin survived the next thirty-two hours.

* * *

Joanna Daniels was, except for the hideous fashion sense, an extremely gifted human being. Since her teenage years, she had been fascinated with psychology and, more than that, the minds and hearts of abuse survivors. Anyone who thought to trace this fascination back would find themselves meeting a child who had once lived down the street from her, a boy who had never been rescued.

She could remember, in stark detail, the last time she had seen him, standing before his front door, staring up at the peeling entry with wide eyes and a pale face and, hours later, standing by her father and her dad behind the police tape with the rest of the crowd, she had wondered if, just maybe, he had known what was going to happen to him when he finally took those last steps.

Jonathon Lavery had become her fascination.

Stirring her coffee sullenly, she gazed down at it, as if she could find the answers to everything if she just looked deep enough. But, no… of course not… answers never came that easily, not to her and not to anyone else she knew. Sighing, pressing her hand against a temple tiredly, she dropped the stirrer against the side of the cup and leaned back in the cafeteria seat, staring at the wall across from her with glazed eyes.

And then, quite by accident, she caught a movement and much like a hunter dog, she stilled and straightened in her seat, leaning forward in her chair and watching Jamie Martin from across the large room, spotting him standing in the far corner, staring with his usual expression as he smacked his hand furiously against the soda machine.

No one was coming to help the Lab, of course.

Standing, running hands down her clothes, Joanna took off across the cafeteria, finally finding someone she could speak to about her patient, as wrong as that might sound to some people. Didn't matter, not when it came to a case like Jonathon Lavery's and, if what she was beginning to think was true, than she needed any insight she could possibly get her hands on… legal or not.

Reaching past him, she smacked the side of the machine once, near the coin deposit and, with a strangely peaceful sounding whir from within, a bottle of grape soda popped into view—and then, with a hiss, it exploded when he set his hand on it, spraying him and the machine with a liberal coating of bright purple froth and his strangled yelp of surprise filled her ears.

Looking over her shoulders, she felt a touch of pity for the boy when she saw Joe Martin—the boy's own grandfather—bent over his lunch, shoulders shaking and tears streaming down his face from laughter, struggling to hide himself from view as he, apparently, lost all hold on his sanity.

Pulling a dollar from her pocket, she inserted it into the machine, pressed the top button and then, as needed, gave the massive shape a proper smack on the side, stepping back as a bottle of Sprite Zero dropped neatly into view. Bending, scooping it up, she twisted off the lid and took a long swallow before reaching out and patting a soggy shoulder, nodding to the exit. "Come on, James, we need to talk."

With a slight look of awe on his face as he stared at her, he followed her out of the cafeteria and down the hallway, towards her office. By the time they entered her office, he was noticeably freaked out and, with an insane urge to point at him and laugh herself silly, she reminded herself what she was doing—Jonathon… this was about her patient. "Please sit down, James," she suggested, gesturing to the chair in front of her desk with the half-empty bottle.

He obeyed and, once again fighting that sinister little urge, Joanna took her own seat, leaning back and crossing her legs, settling a cool gaze on the boy, reaching up to brush strands of silver-touched dark hair from her face, tucking it back behind her ears silently, waiting for him to break—which, of course, he did.

"What do you want?" he finally blurted out, and, annoyed without quite understanding why, she snapped, "You live with Jonathon, right?" He gave her such a blatantly nervous look that she sighed and rubbed her forehead, soothing him in irritation, "I need to talk to someone who knows him rather well—I'd go to his sister but, if it is what I think it is, then she'll work just as hard as he does to keep these things hidden."

"What things?"

A bit of her bravado faded slightly and, after a moment of tapping her fingertips along her thighs, she noted, "I've heard the conversations between Jonathon and her brother, Jamie and, if it were up to me, Jonathon would cut any ties he had to his brother. However, and of this I have no doubt, I believe there's something deeper to Jonathon's recent withdrawals in our sessions."

"'Deeper'?" he echoed nervously, patting his hands against his knees in a anxious jig, one foot drumming on the floor as an odd form of accompaniment. He looked to her like nothing so much as a kid who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar and, while not quite able to put it out in words, there was an almost painful kind of plea in his gaze as he stared at her.

So she clearly wasn't the only one who was worried about Jonathon.

Contemplating the words for a few moments, she finally decided to just go for it—after all, fortune favors the brave, right? "James—" Joanna hesitated and straightened in her seat, lacing her fingers and bracing her elbows on the desktop, regarding him intently. "James, does Jonathon ever talk about his mother?" she finally asked quietly.

* * *

They were planning something.

Standing in the doorway to Adam Chandler's office, Erin found herself the source of two pairs of eyes, one sharp and dark with a glittering intelligence and the other a frosty blue, a light of skim of boyish guilt in their depths. The darker pair made her lift one eyebrow in mock suspicion—the quick flick of the blue gaze past her hips, the shift of boyish guilt to something hungry and predatory enough to make a flush fill her neck and face.

Damn.

"What are you two doing?" she questioned, cautiously stepping a bit deeper into the room and crossing arms self-consciously over her chest, regretting her move when the change did nothing but prop her breasts up even more for anybody to look at—not that she minded him looking at them… she was just baffled as to why a man would find them all that interesting.

Any other woman she could understand, but her?

Father and son exchanged a shifty glance and, where he was leaning against the large desk, JR straightened, setting his glass of watered down Scotch on the edge of the wood and grinning at her with such a nervous kind of glee that she half-expected them to bring silly string from behind their backs and nail her.

Crap.

Bad thoughts came when she thought of JR nailing… things…

Reaching up, she pressed her hands against the sides of her face and then pulled fingers through her tresses, giving him a look and finally, with a glance towards the older man, chuckled, "I ask, again, what are you two planning in here with your Scotch and your shifty looks and your evil, little boy grins?"

Adam stood up abruptly, snapping a file folder closed and, gripping it calmly in one hand, he patted his son's shoulder with the other and, pausing, they once again exchanged that look. "You don't forget now—" JR smacked him in the arm quickly, jerking his chin at the redhead watching them with narrowed eyes. "Shush!" he hissed and, sighing, Adam slunk out of the room, closing the door behind him.

"JR—"

"When's your birthday?"

The sudden comment threw her off slightly and she stared for a moment or two before, with a startled blink, she cautiously noted, "March seventeenth—" The blush returned in full at the slight snort of laughter her words got and, smacking him on the chest angrily, she snapped, "Don't you dare make fun of me, Junior!"

He just kept grinning at her and, turning away, he began digging in the pocket of his jeans and, absently, she watched the movements, from the way the shirt rode up a bit to reveal muscled skin to the way she could acutely see the way his back moved beneath his light-colored shirt.

Swallowing at the sight, she rubbed her neck nervously, feeling heated very suddenly as she leaned her head the smallest bit to the left, trying to see more of the bare skin as he dug in the pocket and feeling intensely frustrated when she was unable to get more than a flash. Add to this the sudden itchiness in her own hands and she was suddenly a flustered woman.

By the time he turned back to her, she was breathing a little more rapidly than normally and, setting her eyes on the cloth bag in his hand, she let her arms dangle at her sides, forcing herself to relax and remember that this was her job, damn it! "—too bad I'm a few months late," he was saying.

"What?"

JR upended the bag into his palm and she took an automatic step forward when she caught the glitter of light on something metallic, a glint of brilliant gold. Cramming the pouch back into his pocket, he let the necklace dangle from his fingers and she swallowed, watching it ripple slightly. Looking up at him, she squeaked slightly, "What's that?"

"Something I found when I was picking up Brooke's gift from the antique store," he said lightly, turning his wrist and letting her eyes settle on the end of the jewelry. "It's old but that's what you like, right?" he asked, a queer sort of something at this back of his gaze as he met her gaze, something that left her, again, feeling heated. "I know your tastes run more along thrift-store treasures than Lacey's junk."

Odd, how much it meant that he knew that and didn't laugh at her.

Reaching out cautiously, she caught the strand of precious metal, a deceptively delicate looking strand of dark gold that spun slowly in the light, casting flashes of brilliance and, stepping closer again, she studied the dangling beads of some black stone, something she couldn't identify right at the moment but immediately loved.

Twisting one slowly in her hand, she suddenly let out a sound that could only be called a giggle, something that felt foreign to her but she savored, the giggle bubbling up again in her throat as she smoothed a thumb against one of the stones, enjoying the feel of it. "Like it?" The almost goofy grin on her face was answer enough and he let out a warm laugh, a roll of heat that made her shiver slightly.

He gestured and she obeyed, turning and reaching up to scoop up the hair at the back of her neck, giving him access and she got a sudden shock when hands brushed her pulse, pulling back a heartbeat later to fasten the chain and then leaving her. Turning, still grinning like an idiot, she looked down at the chain, at how it draped down her top.

"You got it because it fits between my breasts, didn't you?" she cracked, only the slight tremble in her voice betraying the emotions that were now surging through her system like fire, smoldering and then blazing within her in some way that defied logic. He grinned, reaching out to lightly brush his thumb against one of the shining beads, lifting an eyebrow in amusement and, again, there was that something in his eyes, something that heated her from the inside out and, beneath his hand, she shivered suddenly, hard enough to catch her breath and make her bones ache for a minute.

"I can see your breasts just fine," he joked quietly, finger catching on the neckline of her blouse, not tugging it down so much as making his presence known to her and, swallowing again, harder than before, she tightened her hands into fists at her sides, her eyes dropping to where she had spotted that skin, bare flashes that taunted her viciously.

"I think Brooke's calling me…"

"What—" was all he managed to get out before, with a flash of red hair and a glitter of gold, she was gone, vanishing out the room and leaving the door open behind her, and he was left, blinking and feeling extremely irritated as, with a sigh, he rubbed his face furiously, wondering how far he had to go before, damn it, she decided he was worth interest.

Did she not understand the meaning of signals!

* * *

Brooke had no idea how Erica had been invited but there she sat, checking her make-up and hair in a compact as Colby and Kate made faces behind her back. Her hair was simply too big for her to see the little vixens behind her and, despite her best tries to remain mature, Brooke continued to feel insane urges to point at her and laugh.

Times like these left her wanting to give in to those urges.

"So, how's Kendall doing?" she finally asked, absently letting her hands roam across Colby's gift to her—a framed picture of JR and Little Adam with Colby at his side, a small promise of the family she was about to inherit. "I mean, she and Ryan are going to be renewing their vows, right?"

"Well, of course," Erica laughed in delight, snapping her compact shut and waving one hand lightly. "And, let me tell you Brooke, they could not be more excited, especially Ryan?" At the cock of one eyebrow, her smile became slightly brittle and edged and she leaned forward in her seat, dropping hands onto her knees. "What's with that look, Brooke?"

"Erica—" It was exhausting to talk to Erica but, here she was, about to try for about the fifteen thousandth time, setting her photo down on her lap and sighing softly. "Erica, are they really going to be getting their vows renewed… there?" Erica laughed at this, tossing her hair and lightly caressing her earrings with an almost disturbing amount of glee.

They reminded Brooke of oversized dream catchers, honestly.

"It's a suitable place, Brooke, really! What better place then where Kendall ruined everything and everything went wrong?" she asked with another laugh, shrugging her sharp shoulders and slapping hands down on her legs happily. Colby rolled her eyes, set Kate on a hip and left the room, mouthing something to Brooke about going to see Stuart.

"Erica—" Again, she stopped, reaching down to skim fingers along her trousers before standing, stacking her gifts quickly on a nearby table and then rubbing her hands together, wanting several things at once and, catching sight of herself in the photo frame in one hand, she smiled slightly as she reached up and fiddled with the sequined crown that Colby had made her, several feathers and beads swinging across her face and hair. "Erica, maybe you should loosen your grip on Kendall's life?"

"'Loosen my grip'?" Erica echoed with such a maddening amount of chipper glee that Brooke felt a flood of pure irritation, wanting to turn around and slap her like a madwoman. She barely even saw Kendall but even she could see it in her eyes! How could her own mother be so damn dense! "I know what's best for my daughter, Brooke."

"No, Erica, I don't think you do," she snapped before she could stop herself and, hearing that chilly silence freeze completely behind her, she sighed and turned completely, taking her usual stance when dealing with people who had no connection to reality anymore. "Erica, how much longer does your daughter have to suffer like this before you stop pressuring her into something she doesn't want?"


	13. Chapter 13

_**Stupid**_

* * *

_Chapter Thirteen  
_

* * *

_Erin had noticed, only a few days into working at the mansion, how very expressive JR's eyes were._

_Now, staring at him, she violently wished they weren't so damn expressive, violently wished that she wasn't able to read that much pain and anguish in his gaze as he stared silently at the monitor. Trying to look away from him, not succeeding, she swallowed roughly, hating and despising the way he was just staring, seemingly not knowing what else to do._

_Tearing her eyes away, she regretted it when they fell on the television screen, the colored image responsible for her boss's sudden turn for the worse. If it hurt her to see this, she could only imagine what this was doing to him and, feeling oddly courageous, she tried to reach out and turn off the picture, tried to do something. By the time she managed to get the television off, he was gone and the office door was wide open._

_"Don't you think you should have warned him?" she demanded and, shaking his head, Zach said nothing. Angry now, not quite able to explain or understand why, she stepped up closer, snapping, "What, you can't answer me? That was cruel!" she added with more emotion, gesturing to the black screen with one hand angrily._

_"I think it was for the best, don't you? Besides, I didn't even realize what had happened until Edie came in and brought me the film." His voice, infuriatingly calm, was almost too much and she rubbed her face angrily, feeling heated and caged as she kicked at the carpet under her feet. "Honestly, Erin, should I have sat on it and kept my mouth shut? I think JR Chandler has had enough lies for a lifetime, don't you think?"_

_He wasn't supposed to make sense, damn it and she turned away, shutting her eyes and pressing her hands against her eyes, torn between attacking Zach for apparently not caring or going after JR and making sure he wouldn't do anything stupid that could cost him his son. In the end, something other than anger won out and, shooting one last frustrated glare at Zach Slater and then at the damn television, she ran out of his office and after her boss._

_She'd think up ways to keep him from committing murder as she tackled him, she supposed._

* * *

Amanda Dillon glared for long moments at the jackass standing before the cabin, in one of his usual black suits and dark shirts, sipping from a Starbucks cup and wearing large dark glasses—considering how brightly the morning sunlight was shining, she really couldn't blame him, but still… "What do you want, Drug-boy?" she demanded bluntly.

Josh just grinned back blandly.

With a disgusted snort, she stepped backwards and into the cabin, dragging fingers through her long brown hair and trying to loosen up some of the tangles as she checked that her bathrobe was correctly tied and that the smart ass wasn't going to see anything. Sated that there was nothing showing, she turned—

And then strode across the room angrily when she spotted him behind David's desk, feet propped up on it and leaning back in his chair, one of the file folders open in his lap and him flipping through it happily, seeming to her like a kid who had just found Santa's toy factory. Shoving his feet off, she snatched the folder, snapped it shut and threw it—and its fellows—into the drawer, slamming it shut and pulling out the key.

"What are you, five?!" she demanded.

He just grinned blandly at her again, disturbingly white teeth flashing back at her again and, with a shrug, chirped, "You know, technically, you don't live here." He gestured lightly around the cabin, jerking his head towards the diplomas mounted elegantly; a testament to David's gifted brain cells. "You just play house," he cracked.

"You really want a foot up your ass, don't you?"

He peered at her over his big scary glasses, grinning like a wolf and, giving him a mocking smile, she chirped, "Tweezers are your friend, buddy." Turning away from him, hearing his chuckles of amusement at his own expense, she went to her purse, beginning to dig around for the item, asking over her shoulder, "You realize that David would kick your ass if he found out you were playing with his work, don't you?"

"Yep," came his pleasant-enough answer from behind her.

"Well, as long as we're clear." Finally getting her hands on the little treasure, she dropped her purse back to the table and turned back to him, holding up the item tauntingly and noticing with a touch of surprise how he seemed to jump up and stiffen upon seeing that she had, in fact, kept her promise. "Do you know how guilty I felt doing this to Brooke there, buddy?"

"I highly doubt she'll notice one key missing from her office," he noted, voice slightly awed as he carefully laid out a hand. When she dropped the small key into the palm, he snatched his hand back hungrily, staring down at the worn metal that Bianca had insisted they get a hold of for their search.

"I like Brooke."

"I really don't care." Thoughtfully, he examined the key for a few more minutes before, reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his own keys and, after a moment of battling with the metal ring, managed to get the small item connected to his. "Don't you lose that," she warned as he went back to the table, getting his coffee and not putting away the keys.

"I won't," he assured her absently and she rolled her eyes, not paying attention to him as he left the cabin quickly, jogging out to his car and throwing himself in, staring down at his Precious with an intense gaze. Thoughtfully, he noted how much trust Kendall must have in their mother that she would trust Erica's archrival with her more important stored goods than her own family.

Deciding to think of his sister's trust issues as a blessing in disguise for the time being, Josh started up the ignition, pulling away slowly from the cabin and starting off towards what he hoped held what he needed to keep his sister from losing any chance of happiness—or worse.

* * *

With Chris settled in her lap and chewing a carrot that his aunt had managed to snag away from the caterers, Erin sat in one of the only dark corners of the Valley Inn, where she could watch Erica Kane strut around like a peacock in drag. Twice now, Erin had been attacked with an insane need to run across the room and rip those hideous earrings off and burn them.

"Remember, buddy," she muttered, running a hand over dark hair and across a soft check, "you can grow up, dress in drag and do the hula if you want but, please, never wear earrings that could double as snowshoes, okay?" Her nephew's answer, as he tried cramming the carrot up his nose, was a mumbling of acquiesce and she snorted with amusement as she skillfully maneuvered the vegetable away from his nostrils.

"Don't do that," she advised in a whisper, jiggling him lightly as she shook hair over her shoulder and looked past Erica, to where Ryan was deep in conversation over his cell phone—she tried to ignore thoughts of who he was probably talking to—and sighed deeply, cracking under her breath, "You'll get your daddy's IQ if you do that."

Shifting her eyes, she glanced at the long table, and the three empty seats that, she knew with absolute certainty, wouldn't be filled despite Erica's apparent denial of the divorce. Jackson had made his feelings on Erica's string-pulling clear the only way he knew how and, finally giving in, he had put his foot down and signed the papers, something that left Erin wanting to track down the older man and hug him.

Despite their long-lasting bitterness over Jonathon, he had helped Bianca get Jonathon the best therapists and that, as she knew full well, was not something other people would have done, especially not in her family. Always before, they would have given him pills and a pat on the back and shipped him off to get even worse.

Too bad Erica had to screw that up, too.

"Erin!"

Jolted out of reverie, Erin stared blankly at Erica for several moments, noting the slightly electrocuted grin on her face and the overdone make-up that screamed that she was not feeling the best, despite her attempts to hide it. For a moment, staring at her and then past her at the empty places, Erin felt a flicker of sadness for the older woman.

Erica, though, was so good at screwing things up.

"Where's that girl?"

"That girl" could only be Maggie and, closing her eyes for a moment, Erin felt the last lingering traces of sympathy evaporate at the tone. Apparently, while Bianca was allowed to have a personal life in Paris, she wasn't allowed to do anything sexual in nature when back in Pine Valley, which left Maggie downgraded to "that girl" and Bianca, in Erica's deluded mind, a nun.

"Probably getting busy with Bianca," she muttered under her breath and, voice slightly snappish, Erica chirped, "Excuse me, Erin?" Raising her head, offering Erica the best smile she could manage, she explained, brightly, "I said, she's probably helping Bianca pick out which convent to move to!"

If looks could kill, Erin would have been six feet under.

Spinning, she stalked away, heels clicking with military precision across the polished floor and, rolling her eyes, Erin got to her feet, shifting Chris to one hip. Moving towards the shape playing Poker with Miranda on a nearby table, she slowed, allowing herself to enjoy the sight of JR and the little girl, deep in thought processes and exchanging guarded looks every few seconds.

Miranda, Erin had quickly learned, was every bit the apple of JR's eye as Little Adam. When Maggie and Bianca had made the move back to Pine Valley, it had been Kendall who had insisted on the visiting hours for JR and the girl and, while their first Christmas together as father and 'daughter' had been destroyed by a pain and loss and confusion, their first Christmas as godparent and goddaughter had been perfection. They had gotten Christmas Eve together and the next day had been shared by Maggie and Bianca and their little girl.

Even on the outside looking in, it had been everything Erin had always dreamed about as a little girl— Marian and Stuart, who had immediately insisted that Erin just call him Stuart, with enough cookies and cakes and sweets to make her teeth hurt for a week; Brooke and Adam bickering about exactly how to hang the stockings even as they exchanged looks that made Erin feel like a pervert; Miranda and Little Adam, playing with Miranda's new puppy while JR looked on, a goofy happy-daddy grin on his face.

For a while there, it had been enough to make Erin wonder if she'd find a place in there.

Maybe it was stupid but she didn't care—she still thought about it, all the time, especially right now watching the two of them play. Deciding not to shirt their attention too badly, she leaned her empty hip against the petition between their table and the next, able to look over JR's shoulder down onto the game. "Erica's freaking out about Bianca."

"We still have two hours before she gets to freak out over anything."

"This is Erica we're talking about, remember?"

Raising his head, he grinned up at her and she managed a nervous smile back, once again saving her nephew from doing himself any permanent damage—this time, when he tried to see how far into his ear he could push the carrot. When she looked back, she found with relief that he had his eyes back on the game and off of her.

"Where are they, anyway?"

"Looking for something."

Frowning at strong emotion in that voice, she tapped him on the shoulder and got no answer. Tapping him again, more forcefully, he shrugged his shoulders jerkily and she sighed, asking, "What's the matter?" He shook his head and, unable to quite figure out what she had apparently done, she headed back her shadowy corner, pausing half-way to look over her shoulder at the feel of eyes on her back.

But his complete concentration was on the game and, slightly put out, she took her seat back; two minutes later, she heaved a sigh of weariness as she began to think up ways to get a carrot out of a nose without upsetting the child now laughing at how it stuck out a good half-foot.


	14. Chapter 14

_**Stupid**_

_Memories are just where you laid them  
Dragging the waters 'til the depths give up their dead  
What did you expect to find?  
Was it something you left behind?  
Don't you remember anything I said when I said,_

_Don't fall away and leave me to myself  
Don't fall away and leave love bleeding in my hands, in my hands again  
And leave love bleeding in my hands, in my hands  
Love lies bleeding_

_Oh hold me now I feel contagious  
Am I the only place that you've left to go?  
She cries her life is like  
Some movie in black and white  
Dead actors faking lines, over and over and over again she cries_

_- Fuel, "Hemorrhage (In My Hands)" _

* * *

_Chapter Fourteen _

* * *

_"Maybe it'll be different this time."_

_But Kendall shook her head furiously, looking up from her meal to meet his eyes squarely, licking a spare bit of alfredo sauce off the corner of her lip. Realizing what she had just done, she felt a bit of heat rush into her face and cleared her throat softly, all aflutter with the sudden awareness of herself, something she hadn't felt in so long she almost didn't recognize it._

_Focusing on the worry at hand, she poked at her meal absently, stirring the carefully prepared mix of grilled chicken and slim noodles, the strong taste of parmesan lingering as she set down the fork to clatter against the bowl and took a nervous swallow of her drink, wishing sorely for something alcoholic to ease her nerves._

_But no, she couldn't… she was pregnant…_

_The thought, as always, left a bitter taste in her mouth and she absently pressed a fist against the swell of her stomach, squashing the childish anger she felt at her child, the insane frustration that she couldn't even trust herself to touch the man she loved without being afraid of doing something to hurt the baby._

_"About JR and the blonde…?" he coaxed and she continued, grateful for something to get her mind out of that consuming mix of awareness of him and her anger at the changes her body was undergoing, the changes she would have done anything to put off. "I can see it in his face, Zach— he's decided to give her a second chance," she muttered angrily, twisting her napkin angrily in her smaller than usual lap._

_"Maybe she loved him," he suggested lightly, pushing up from his seat and coming around his desk, plucking up the tray from in front of her and vanishing behind her for a moment. Picking up the sounds of Edie's quiet voice, she marveled for the millionth time at the woman's almost frightening loyalty and took another swig from her drink. "She doesn't love anyone, Zach, not her. She goes on about how much she loved Miranda? Yeah… yeah, so she thought nothing of handing her precious Bess over to the "horrible father" while my sister suffered." She snorted in disgust, shook her head again. "She doesn't give a damn about him, not at all."_

_"But you do."_

_She studied him, worried for a moment before she saw the glimmer of carefully concealed laughter in his eyes and rolled her eyes, silently assuring her that he wasn't going to run around, having a pissing contest with JR just because he could. "He's my friend, Zach—I refuse to let him go into 'Marriage from Hell: The Return' with his eyes closed."_

_He took his seat again, leaning back and smiling slightly at her, watching as she set down her empty glass and sighed deeply. "Maybe you should begin your plans to protect your best friend JR after your mother's ball?" She gave him a look and he chuckled, arching one eyebrow. "You can have my every resource, of course."_

_"This is serious."_

_"I know."_

_"I mean, he's my best—"_

_He cut her off, leaning forward and clasping one of her hands in one of his large palms, gripping it with a careful strength that, once again, made her curse her ability to give them both what they wanted. "I know, Kendall—I know how you love." She blushed, again, and it made his smile bloom into a full grin. "We will 'save' your friend if that's what you want."_

_"It is."_

* * *

Rolling the lunch table away from her, Dixie stared at it for long moments, trying not to hear the constant sounds of mechanical breathing but hearing them anyway, a sound she would most likely hear even if he woke up right now and danced the hula. That would be something he would do, something that he would have done once just to make her laugh.

He had played the ukulele and worn a hula skirt once—and that coconut bra, all to make her laugh…

She couldn't quite remember what it was like to laugh. Even when she had gotten Kate back, wrapped her arms around her, it had been a bittersweet beauty, not knowing then if Tad would even survive the bullets that had done such damage to his system, not knowing if the family would be burying him by the time she and David got back from the island.

It was hard to hold Kate now, with Tad like this.

Not hungry and not caring to make herself eat, she stood when she caught movement. Brooke was waiting outside the room, a bag of something in one hand and something else in the other and needing to at least look at another person, Dixie let her in, watching the other woman study Tad for several moments before turning back to the blonde and offering up the bag of what looked like clothes.

Yes, she saw as she peeked in, there were clothes, jeans and shirts and socks; she was thankful that she hadn't had to ask since, in the last several months, she'd been leaving the hospital room even less than she used to, falling into a hermit existence of moving into the room for days at a time, using Tad's shower every night and sleeping on the uncomfortable couch she had long since gotten used to.

As Dixie followed the redhead's unspoken orders and began gathering her dirty clothes from the bathroom, Brooke fiddled with the photo frames and pictures from Kate, checking each almost compulsively. "I think you should come to the wedding," she finally suggested when Dixie came back in the room. "I think you need to get out, Dixie—this isn't healthy for you."

"And being shot wasn't healthy for Tad," Dixie retorted, nodding to the comatose shape as she set the bundle of clothes on the hard chair by the door and looked back at Brooke, wrapping her arms around her middle and finishing, "Besides, I highly doubt that JR or anyone else wants me there."

"There's a difference between wanting you there—and needing you there."

"Really."

"Really," Brooke concluded, a force in her voice that left no argument and so she didn't try, simply obeyed when she found herself being handed a book, grimacing and rubbing her face. "You're cruel, Brooke—and I do mean you're really, really… cruel…" Trailing off, she flipped through several pages, studying glossy images of loose teeth and Halloween costumes.

"Is it working?"

Dixie gave her a look and turned away—but she didn't refuse the offer.

* * *

"Oh, Kendall, couldn't you of been early today of all days?!"

Trying to force an apologetic smile, Kendall accepted the cool once over her mother gave her, failing miserably in her endeavor as she found her mother's lips pursing and dark eyes narrowing as she apparently found Kendall lacking horribly. With a condescending smile firmly in place, the petite woman began ushering Kendall towards the large dining room, where Kendall could see groups of people, all wanting her.

Wanting what she was supposed to be.

Twisting her hands together, wringing the delicate bones, she found her throat closing as she got closer to the doorway and unconsciously tried to stop her movements, failing again when her mother pushed with a frightening strength, propelling her into a mass of family members and friends, all of whom swallowed her whole for several seconds before she could get a breath.

Bianca was now where to be found, something that caused to gulp in air harshly, feeling as if she had just suffered a blow to her middle. She needed Bianca here or Josh… Josh would offer support the way she needed… or JR… JR would give her what she needed, would say that she never needed to be anything but Kendall and he understood—

A hand came around her waist, JR hugging her tightly to him as he pressed a kiss to her cheek. "They'll be here soon," he whispered, holding on a moment longer before he was gone and she found herself shoved down into a seat beside her husband, feeling dizzy and ungrounded as she stared at him, picking the tablecloth beneath his plate with a fork.

And then Chris was deposited roughly in her lap by her mother and, only to keep him from sliding off her lap and to the floor, she grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him back against her stomach, holding him only because she had to and not because she really wanted to.

Would she ever get used to this?

* * *

Brooke English was a reporter at heart. It was how her mind had worked since she was a young girl, how she had always thought. Jamie had never inherited this side of her, something that was depressing since this personality quirk would have kept what he had for a brain sharp no matter what.

She had nothing against Kendall Hart-Lavery, especially not with how deeply JR cared for her and, after JR, Colby was crazy about her, even if the young girl had only spent a few hours with her before the marriage had cut Kendall off from anything that might be considered a life. She had helped the girl announce her… ah, religious choices to JR and Adam and acted as a truly impressive 'older sister' in a difficult time for the girl.

Brooke, it could be said, truly liked Kendall.

And so, when she found out about what was going on between Kendall's oh-so perfect husband and a person she herself had no love for, she had found herself with only one idea with what to do with the information: an in-depth expose confronting the jackass's idea of marriage fidelity and loyalty.

Josh, however, couldn't wait for the expose to be finished.

He needed the info now.

Finding the framed photo of JR, Kate and Little Adam on the desk was a surprise, he had to admit, since every brush he'd had with the woman had left him a little freaked out at how sharp-tongued and cool she could be even while she cut you off at the knees but, knowing what he knew about Adam Chandler, he supposed only someone like Brooke English could keep a hold on him and still keep him who he was supposed to be.

He had seen such a relationship only rarely in his life and certainly never in his own family.

Clicking on only one of the lights on her desk, he bent and unlocked the desk drawer, sliding it open carefully and peering in. there, set on top, was exactly what he was looking for and he grinned slightly, almost boyishly as he lifted out of the folder, immediately feeling the disc that she had slipped inside. A quick scan through of the information—impressively compiled, with pictures and everything—and he hesitated, looking up at the picture frame.

He could still remember the beat-down that JR Chandler had given him in the parking lot of the New Beginnings building, the beat down that had left him in the hospital for several days and hobbling around on crutches with a sling on for several more weeks, proof that JR Chandler had truly reached his breaking point with lies and those people who told them.

But no one would blame him for this, something he knew with absolute certainty. Everybody he knew that mattered would want this done, even if they might wish he wasn't doing it in such a harsh way. He couldn't find the letters and doubted he ever would, but he needed to shake her out of this and try to get her to stop closing herself off.

If this was the only way to do it than, damn it, he would be okay with her shooting the messenger.

Scribbling a note to apologize for breaking in and not to blame Dillon for it—it wouldn't be helpful to have Chandler's hired goons break him in half before he got to Kendall and he didn't actually mind Dillon, since she also knew the meaning of 'crazy'—he stuck it to the photo frame and then checked that the folder was hidden safely in his jacket before he fled the office and then the building that Brooke had such a massive part in.

* * *

Bianca, parked for a good half-hour outside the Valley Inn, finally could wait no longer and headed in with Maggie at her side, only to find herself yanked away from her girlfriend and dragged savagely into the dining room, shoved down into the seat between JR and Kendall.

With a grimace, she watched as Maggie was unceremoniously dumped into a seat as far away from Bianca as Erica could manage, effectively cutting the two women off from each other—and cutting Maggie off from Miranda, something that made a vein in Bianca's temple pulse softly before she managed to calm down.

And then, of course, she noticed Kendall and the last hints of anger melted rapidly into a flood of absolute anguish, watching the way Kendall struggled with her words, looking to Ryan for some kind of help and finding nothing. The first time that Chris nearly slipped from her lap, Bianca thought it was an accident; the second time, her heart jumped into her throat and she lunged out, grabbing him and pulling him into her own lap, swallowing at the lack of any response that the loss of the child provoked in Kendall.

Josh wasn't right, of course—Kendall loved her son.

Uneasily, she looked over, stared at how JR was watching Kendall silently, looking as pissed off about this onslaught her sister was facing as she was in pain. His eyes were narrowed, chilled and cool and, swallowing, she found herself helplessly thinking of Babe's latest stunt, and how she had finally proved how _much_ she had loved her son.

The fact that David Hayward got more time with the little boy than Babe did was a sign of how far she had gone.

When he fusses softly, she jiggled him lightly, easing his frustrations as Erica stood, smiling serenely and letting her eyes flow over each person gathered around the table, making Bianca sorely wish uncle Jack was around still; he would have put his foot down on all of this, would have Erica accept Maggie's part in Miranda's life whether she liked it or not.

"—the love that is shared by my daughter and Ryan is unlike anything I've ever seen before—"

Banishing her mother's voice from her skull, Bianca looked at Ryan and frowned, seeing a look on his face that almost matched JR's, his blue eyes actually filled with something other than his usual bored arrogance as he stared almost hatefully at Erica, something that made Bianca feel oddly frightened, never having expected such a look from her mother's closest friend.

If she didn't know better, she might think he wasn't as satisfied as he made them think he was.


	15. Chapter 15

_**Stupid**_

_Chapter Fifteen_

* * *

Colby Marian Chandler, spread out on the couch in the living room and deep in thought over which kind of incense would go best with her current project, found herself dealing with the fact that she was being studied. Dropping the large copy of '_The Element Encyclopedia of Witchcraft: The Complete A-Z for the Entire Magical World_' onto her stomach, she turned her head to the right and met the guileless blue eyes of Kate Cooney and Little Adam, standing before her and staring at her with identical looks.

Had she been that cute when she was that age?

Deciding to not think about how quickly she had grown while she had been gone—and how much she had missed—the almost thirteen year old sat up and set the book by her leg, staring back at them for long moments and waiting for whatever they needed to tell her. Seconds ticked by and, finally, she asked, "Need anything, guys?"

Two pairs of surprisingly similar eyes met and then shifted back to her before, moving forward, Kate offered the older girl a brilliant smile and a flutter of long eyelashes. It was enough to make Colby, who spent a good amount of time baby-sitting the girl, shiver in fear, knowing all the horrors that that playful innocence could pull off with a scary ease.

Kate had far too much of her father in her, as her own father was wont to say.

"Yeah?" she finally managed to mutter, a slight edge of fear apparent in the quiet words.

"Little Adam says he really, really needs something," Kate explained, leaning forward on the balls of her feet and the smile on her face blooming even more, if that was possible—and it shouldn't have been. Stepping back, she let Colby reach out and grab Little Adam's shirt, tugging him closer to peer down at him, curious now despite her dread of the little girl at her side.

"What's the matter, squirt?"

He took another step forward, standing as tall as he could to whisper a blur of words into his young aunt's ear before darting back again, hugging his stuffed dog with both hands and staring at Colby with such dramatic despair that she knew he must have been practicing it. She closed her eyes for a moment, picturing Kate and Little Adam standing before the bathroom mirror, practicing their faces.

"Could you repeat that, buddy?"

Long silence, blue eyes meeting with an intelligence that frightened her before, with a sigh, Kate moved forward and draped herself against Colby, peering up at her with such a sorrowful look that she suddenly understood how it was JR was so helpless in dealing with his youngest sister. All she had to do was put out the lip and fill the eyes with bright wetness and, boom, JR was driving her to the park so she could spend an extra half hour with her friends.

As of that moment, Colby realized she was just as whipped.

"Little Adam and I have been talking," the little girl finally offered, never breaking eye contact as she began to pluck of the shirt Colby was wearing pensively, small head tilted thoughtfully. "It's just, Little Adam really likes Erin." Colby stared, blankly, and, sighing again, Kate finished, "He really, really wants Erin as his new mommy.

* * *

Rarely in his life had he been so frustrated with anyone.

When she ignored his fifth call, he decided that she really was getting serious with her threat to stop everything and leave town. On some level, he knew she would—she had no one here who would call her family and no one knew about any connection between her and him. On the other hand, though, some part of him had completely and totally blocked out the idea of her actually leaving.

It was the leaving part that had made him stare, stupidly, when she had given him her so-called "final word" on the matter.

Sitting at the table and listening to Erica drone on, wondering how long she could possibly keep going, without stop, he found that he already knew the answer to that. Nothing could stop Erica Kane when she had her mind on a speech, not even him pleading with her to keep the talking to the minimum so he and Kendall could get home early.

So he could make sure Kendall was asleep so he could track her down and make her give him a few more months.

That was all he needed.

Tugging his cell phone from his belt, he stared down at it, glaring almost, trying to force her mentally to call him and, of course, failing as he bit his cheek and dropped the phone to the table. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Kendall and bit his cheek again, even harder, hating that look of her face.

Hating _her_, for a heartbeat.

Drumming fingertips restlessly across the tablecloth under his hand, he stared blankly at Erica, trying to care and, as always, failing miserably, frustration surging through his system as his fingers brushed across his cell phone, absently thinking of pale skin and how it felt these days.

He just needed a few more months.

* * *

Jogging towards the Valley Inn, Josh pushed the door open with a shoulder and entered none too gently, teeth chattering slight. Just crossing the street had left him drenched in the sudden explosion of the storm he hadn't even realized was brewing above Pine Valley. The sky above was dark and murky, a gloomy darkness that left him unhappily matching the weather to what was about to happen.

Already knowing his way towards the large dining hall that Erica always chose for her frequent gatherings and family meetings, he shook himself once more, swiping any remaining moisture from his face and hair. But, in front of the door, he hesitated, looking down at the ground and thinking, absently, of any other way.

There were none he could find.

Outside, muffled, a slow rumble of thunder made its presence known, taunting him and looked up at the ceiling, glaring darkly at whoever it was up there, mocking him with all the stupid symbolism. Bianca always went on and on about Mona and, once again, it was somebody in this family that Josh simply didn't give a rat's ass about.

From what he heard, granny Mona hadn't liked Kendall that much, anyway.

His entrance, when it came, was enough to startle Erica out of her speech and she blinked at him owlishly for several moments, smile plastered on her face and bare collarbones seemingly lethal in the lighting, was enough to make him wonder if she ever actually ate anything. She looked old, for a moment and he sighed inwardly, wondering how long it would take her to deal with that fact.

Moving past her, ignoring her, Josh bent, dropping an arm around Kendall's shoulder and pressing a quick kiss to her temple, turning a split second later to grin lopsidedly at Ryan, asking, "How you doing?" Ryan, drumming a fingertip atop his cell phone, ignored him completely and his gaze flicked to the phone thoughtfully, wondering how often the jackass called the blonde bitch up.

"Are you here to celebrate?"

Josh straightened, met his biological mother's eyes and smiled savagely, shrugging broad shoulder and promising, in an rare show of sincerity, "I promise, mother dearest, that I will do everything in my power to support my sister in her true marriage!" Erica, already launching back into her speech, ignored the butterflies in her stomach as Josh, dropping into his seat, patted the folder in his jacket reassuringly, eyes once again falling on his sister.

He kept his promises.


	16. Chapter 16

**Stupid**

_Chapter Sixteen  
_

* * *

It had to be Fate.

Once second he was pondering ways to track her down and force her to listen and the next he looked across the room and there she was, fiddling with her glass of wine and gazing down at her plate of something he couldn't identify from here. She looked depressed, something that he didn't like on her, and she looked lonely and, for a moment, he considered pulling a fire alarm to get everybody out of the Inn.

Wouldn't work though—not with Erica, damn it.

Now on his second-wind, Ryan sat up slightly in his seat, flicking a glance to his left and breathing a sigh of relief that, for the moment at least, Kendall was preoccupied with Josh and Bianca and Chris was settled securely in JR's arms, picking at his godfather's plate of food with a fork happily.

Looking back to the other side of the table, he regarded Erica for several moments, finally pushing back from the table and standing. Kendall gave him an imploring look that he barely noticed and eased around the table, bending to Erica's level and grimacing at the feel of having to fold himself in half to achieve it.

"I just remembered—" He faltered at the look she had focused on him, eyes narrowed and lips pursed, hesitating for a moment before forcing himself to continue in a steady voice, "I just remembered that I had to call Jonathon tonight." She stared and he offered an apologetic chuckle, he managed, "I just need a few minutes."

Erica just stared lethally at him and, feeling quite spineless, he quickly darted away from the table, hunching himself down the smallest bit as he increased his pace. She spotted him a split second before he reached her and managed to shake her head furiously, shoving her chair back and standing.

He was faster though, and caught one arm, jerking her in front of him, out of eyesight to the table where his family sat and then out of the dining room, rushing her hastily through the lobby. Marching her quickly towards the bathroom, he popped his head in for a moment, searching for anybody who might have caused trouble and finding the bathroom empty.

"Ryan—"

He shoved her in, slamming the door shut behind him and regretting his force the smallest bit when she staggered on her heels, letting out a small yelp of surprise as she grabbed onto the sink and caught herself, spinning angrily and letting out a sound like an angry cat, an amusing thing that brought some color into her cheeks and made her eyes narrow angrily.

"I said—"

"You're wrong," he snapped, stepping away from the door and setting his hands on her shoulders, not letting her twist away when she tried to, glaring at him. "Where the Hell is this all coming from, anyway?" She gave him such a disgruntled look that he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, praying for patience. "Di—"

"Don't touch me," she snapped, taking him by surprise and slipping out of his hold, skirting past him and getting her hand on the door before he once again grabbed her and pulled her back, placing him securely between the fragile-looking blonde and the door, dropping his hands from her arms when he caught her look. "Di—"

"I told you, Ryan—its over."

"You don't mean that."

Something flickered, lightly, at the back of her eyes, not much but enough and some of that awful panic in his gut suddenly loosened, clearing his head slightly and giving him back the ability to think, at least for a few minutes. "I don't get this sudden panic, Di— everything's going just fine."

"Brooke English knows!"

"No, she doesn't," he stated immediately, even as he uneasily thought back to the older woman's sudden phone call several days before, asking him a few questions about Chris and, clearing his throat awkwardly, he started twisting the gold band on his ring finger with his thumb, a movement that he regretted when Di saw it and paled, again trying to make it for the door. "Where is this coming from?!"

"Would you divorce Kendall?"

Jesus, they were back on that again.

"Di—" She spun, stalking angrily across the floor, arms crossed around her middle and hair falling across her face, seeming to fold painfully in upon herself, something that made him feel restless and edgy and like he needed a shot of something extremely strong. "Would you just—listen—"

"I am so sick of listening!"

"Baby—"

"And I'm so sick of you acting like this is nothing!" she whispered hotly, still remembering that they were only a few painful meters from the wife in question. But tears were welling up in her eyes, and small fists clenched at her sides, white-knuckled with strong and painful emotions. "I am so sick of waking up completely alone, Ryan!"

"It's only for a few more months!" he insisted, knowing it was useless but trying anyway, failing when she shook her head, tears finally spilling over and gesturing at everything around—or maybe at them—with shaky hands. "You're telling me that you came here for your meal and had no idea that I was going to be here?"

She gave him a hateful look, and, before he could grab her, had spun and darted into one of the stalls, locking it with a deafening clang of metal and a crash of the door against the frame, enough to make his teeth hurt. "Go back to your precious little woman, Ryan, I don't want you!"

Fine, they'd have to do this the hard way.

* * *

The wine glass perched carefully on her stomach and eyes closed, Amanda Dillon lay back on the couch.

"Stop hogging the couch."

Popping open her eyes, she peered blankly at David for a moment before realizing what he meant and plucked her wine glass off her stomach, sitting up just enough to let him drop onto the couch and set his feet up on the coffee table with a slightly weak groan. "How long, exactly, has it been since you slept?"

He gave her a slightly dirty look but not, unfortunately, the good kind of dirty look.

Damn.

Letting her head fall back into his lap, setting the wineglass back on her stomach, she let out her breath as a slightly annoyed huff, irritated beyond measure at David's latest months of shifts. When she had been little, her mother had always gone on about how it would be so beyond wonderful for Amanda to find herself a nice doctor.

Amanda somehow doubted that David Hayward was the kind of man her mother had in mind.

Sure, he was rich and impressively connected but he also had a record with the PVPD as long as she was tall and a latent talent to get under people's skin. Sometimes she cringed at the thought of what her father would have thought if he ever knew she had shacked up with the official Dr. Evil of Pine Valley.

But then, her father was dead so why did that matter so much?

"I thought you were doing something with Brooke today?"

It took all she had to not give him a 'deer in the headlights' look. Even so, with her best attempts not to, she found him staring down at her, one eyebrow raising up in question, enough to make her sit up and glare at him, waiting for him to speak. Which, of course, he didn't, leaving her glaring more.

Her glares were no match for his eyebrow, though.

"Did you do something bad?"

"I just gave Josh the proof that Ryan hitting something on the side."

"Well, that's fine, then," he assured her, sighing deeply and leaning back, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples, glass of Scotch set on his knee. Refusing to urge to send him to bed, she scooted closer to him, frowning slightly. "You aren't sleeping enough, David." Ha gave her a look but this time she was braced for it and stared right back. "You're working too much."

"No, I'm not, believe me—my residency was way more exhausting."

Amanda snorted, rather mockingly and set the half-full glass on the table by his feet before setting her head on his shoulder, sighing deeply and wearily. "You aren't as young as you used to be—" Ignoring his slightly offended noise, she continued more lightly, fingers beginning to tug at the top button of his shirt. "Maybe I could—"

David's phone began to buzz angrily and, gently brushing her off, he stood, already answering his phone as he tossed back the last bit of his alcohol. Several minutes of silence passed, and then he nodded, looking up at her and grimacing before looking away, answering, "Yeah, I'll be there in a few minutes."

"David!"

"We'll play doctor later," he promised before, in a matter of minutes, he was gone and she was left to drink quality wine completely alone. There was that big minus with being with a doctor, damn it—he was playing doctor with other people when he was supposed to be, well, doing her.

Maybe they needed to start looking into bondage—keep him tied down for a few hours so she could have her way with him.

* * *

Petey Cortland was already following in his elder brother's very troublesome footsteps.

At his recent thirteenth birthday, he had crashed his father's new car through the wall of the garage by accident, mostly through an insane attempt to get a certain blonde's eye. Not only had it failed to work but it had also gifted him with the loss of his X-Box, a grounding that ended up lasting three months and, of course, the piece de résistance, he had been forced to wash his father's dogs every week for all three of those months.

It would have all been worth it had Colby not rolled her eyes and flounced off, leaving him to sit blankly in the front seat of the car until his father had suddenly popped up, launching into what would go down as one of Palmer Cortland's longest and most vicious tirades of all time.

It would go down in history.

Colby used him to get what she couldn't and, hey, who was he to pass up the chance to spend a few minutes alone with the patently imperfect little Ms. Chandler, the apple of her father's eye? Not that she was spoiled, not after everything she had been through over the past few years, and all the drama that had resulted from her abandoning Liza one night in a Canadian diner and sneaking back home to barricade herself in her father's mansion.

The resulting trial, Adam Chandler versus Liza Colby, had been anything but sweet and, much like her elder brother throughout his childhood, the girl had been stuck right smack dab in the middle. Of course, with Jamie Martin preaching about how far his now-comatose father had done to keep the girl safe, the Chandlers were, as usual, painted as the moustache-twirling villains in the story, no care at all being given to the girl begging to stay in one place long enough not to forget her name.

It hadn't been until Brooke English had finally snapped in the midst of the insanity and thrown her support behind JR Chandler that everything had finally focused on what was best for the girl in question and not who the possible embodiment of good and evil was on Earth. The revelation that Tad Martin had knowingly kept Miranda Montgomery from her mother for several weeks—something hidden by Bianca Montgomery herself in an effort to keep Babe Carey, in her words "safe"—in order to keep his own biological son safe was, in hindsight, the moment in which the playing field had been leveled out finally.

In the end, the Martin name had been permanently damaged—Tad Martin, his son and even his elderly father having known about the painful baby-switch, doing nothing and, further, by keeping it going longer than it ever could have alone—and custody of the twelve year old girl had been given to the only family member that the courts believed could understand what the girl needed and any trauma she had gone through on her life on the run.

JR Chandler, he of the often-kidnapped childhood and traumatic family divorces and separations, now had legal guardianship of the girl who had regular nightmares of being lost, of no one knowing her name, of coming home day and not being known or loved because no one could remember her.

Liza's attempts to appeal had been stopped by her own mother, who spoke up and wanted the best for Colby.

Colby loved her brother, almost enough to freak out Petey a little bit but then, he wasn't really close to Tad, especially not now that he was a vegetable in a hospital room. And, knowing what he knew about his aunt Jenny and Tad, he had come to the decision that siblings who went through a lot of drama together probably are far closer than the usual brother/sister team.

But did that completely explain what he was doing here?

"Would you explain what I'm doing here, please?"

Colby, looking over her shoulder at the two children now sitting with wide eyes and open mouths at _The Wiggles_—Kate seemed to prefer _The Backyardigans_ but she wanted her nephew happy and if grown men dancing around in _Star Trek_ shirts was what he wanted, than that was fine with her—shrugged, looking at the boy intently with narrowed eyes. "We need to talk about JR."

"His birthday's coming up, right?"

"No—well, yeah, that, too—" She stopped suddenly, a sudden look crossing her face as she stared at him and, for the second time in his life—the first time had been while watching Kate alone one morning, after a breakfast of Sugary-Sugar O's—he felt truly weak in the knees. "Hey!"

"It's for horses," he supplied solemnly, earning himself a small fist in the arm and a dirty look. "No, no, no… it's his birthday. I was just gonna scheme for them to get together because I really think he needs some sex but this is so much better! I'll get him her for his birthday!"

"Get him who?"

"Erin!"

"That's ridiculous."

"But it'll be easy."

"Like, in a birthday cake, like in the picture that Mom got my Dad last year?"

"No—although JR would probably enjoy that," she added thoughtfully, raising her eyebrows as she pondered that last. Shaking herself, remembering her focus, she went on, "They've got the vibes going on, any idiot can see that—"

"What vibes?

"I prove my point," she muttered under her breath, shrugging small shoulders, continuing more firmly, "I don't know if she's not really interested or if she just doesn't understand what her part of this stuff would come down to." At his rather male look, she explained, "You didn't see her at Christmas—when JR came up to her under the mistletoe, she actually shoved a plate of cookies in his face and ran around the couch to hide behind uncle Stuart."

"Then maybe she doesn't like him?"

"That makes you an idiot," she stated promptly, adding on with a grin, "but we already know you're an idiot so that isn't news." Sighing, she leaned back on the couch and his arm itched to be dropped around her shoulders, even if it didn't work. "You haven't seen her leer at him, have you? I mean, she looks at him like she wants to attack him—and then she runs away when he gives her the same look back."

"So he's the mongoose to her snake…? Or— the snake to her mongoose…"

Catching her look, an intense stare that reminded him unhappily of Adam—if Adam had been born a petite, blonde female—he trailed off, going quiet and hunching his shoulders slightly, tapping his fingers on his denim-clad legs. "Maybe we should just lock them up?" he finally suggested half-heartedly, only to have her shake her head furiously. "They'd just leer at each other, get close and run away from each other."

"JR wouldn't run away from her."

"I'm not so sure about that—I mean, he was married to the blonde witch-with-a-B how many times he finally saw the error of his ways? And how many times did she hurt him, smile brightly and then do it again when he forgave her?" Petey nodded absently and she crossed her arms over her chest, staring up at the ceiling as if it held all the answers. "Blondie?"

"I think we need some good old fashioned reconnaissance, Pete."

* * *

"Kendall?"

She ignored her brother carefully, staring down at her plate of food and refusing to meet Bianca's eyes. Bianca knew now, of course, that was clear by the look on her face—she knew that she hated her son and, of course, she'd never understand because, of course, because she was a real mother.

Kendall couldn't even do that right.

"Kendall?"

Maybe if she stuck a fork in his eye, he'd stop bothering her?

"Kendall—we need to talk about some things."

She didn't want to talk about things—talking hurt, too.

"Look, would you please come talk to me?"

Dropping her fork to her plate, aware of the clattering of it, she looked up at her brother, trying to plead with her eyes to leave her alone, just for right now. He just reached out and began to tug on her wrist, looking like nothing so much as a little boy not wanting to leave the park before he was ready.

"Josh—"

"Just for a minute—please?"


	17. Chapter 17

_**Stupid**_

_Chapter Seventeen_

* * *

The tapes of her sessions with Jonathon were beginning to show the wear.

Now, carefully pulling out the tape of her March sixteenth sessions with her patient, she popped it into the player, rewinding it while she went into her kitchen to get her wine. Finally getting back to her living room, settling onto her sofa, she leaned over and studied her open folder, frowning slightly as she tapped a nail against the paper.

Forcing herself not sigh in weariness, she reached out and clicked it on, taking a long sip of her wine and rolling it over her tongue, needing the fuzziness when she spent her free time going through Jonathon's tapes. She'd heard and seen horror stories in her life, in her work but Jonathon's case was painfully impressive in a sickening kind of way.

_"How have you been, Jonathon?"_

_"Fine, you know—like always."_

"Liar," she murmured under her breath, absently drawing small lines beneath his name, and then a series of small flowers in the margins of the paper, a happy escape for a moment to what she was listening to—and other things she would soon be listening to. "You don't want me to ask Erin these things, do you, sweetie?" she added absently, under her breath.

_"We were in the middle of a conversation when you left last time."_

_"Were we?"_

_"Don't smirk so much, Jon, even if it does suit you—"_

_"I don't know what you're talking about."_

A small, bitter smile touched her lips as she thoughtfully filled the corner of her paper with small swirls, whorls of color from her bright blue pen. Curving and sweeping them around her notes of Jonathon's demeanor in the office, she began to sketch in a bad version of Tweety bird.

_"You're a real smartass, aren't you?"_

_"Gee, I don't know, Dr. Daniels, am I a smartass?"_

On the tape there was a small moment of laughter from her, a short moment of relaxation despite what had been going on that day, what she had already started suspecting in the pit of her stomach. When her voice came back, long minutes later, there was an edge present, her patented tone of 'don't fight me trying to help you, please' that usually worked—except, it seemed, on Jonathon.

_"We were talking about Gail when you left last time. I mean, we were talking about her drinking problems?"_

_"I remember."_

_"Do I really have to pull off the cliché and ask you how that makes you feel?"_

_"Have I mentioned that you don't act like a normal therapist?"_

_"I'll take that as a compliment from you since we both know how well the people who handled your care before now did, right?"_

There was a short, bitter chuckle from him, laced with dark humor and she grimaced slightly, letting her pen clatter to the table and leaning back in her seat, eying the tape player with a lethal anger, trying to swallow down the sudden knot in her throat as she waited for the rest of the words, these things making her wonder if she had finally found the missing piece of what she needed to fix him.

_"Isn't it true, Jon? I mean, these people shoved a few pills down your throat, patted you on the back and then shoved you out on the streets. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't consider that what somebody who really wants to help should do. Do I need to give you the speech about the root of your problems and the use of emotional weed killer? Jonathon, you know how much I hate that speech."_

_"Than why do you give it all the time?"_

_"Because Joe Martin has decided that he knows how to fix every person that comes through those hospital doors—and he seems to think you're beyond saving so he gives me a god-awful speech to give to you even though he knows what it's like to reach an abused child."_

_"So, it's true then, that Martin…?"_

_"Oh, yes— yes, very much so. From what I've heard, his biological father was just as bad, if not worse, than yours."_

_"There's a difference between me and Martin—he's never killed anyone, or done any of the other five thousand not-nice things I've done in my life."_

_"There's another difference between you and Martin, sweetie pie."_

_"One, stop calling me sweetie pie, because I'm no one's sweetie pie and, two, just because I'm curious—what other difference does your giant brain detect between me and Coma-boy?"_

_"Did you get away from Patrick and grow up in a loving home with people like the Martins?"_

There was a long silence, pregnant and heavy and Joanna unconsciously leaned forward again, starting to doodle along the bottom of the paper, a collection of peace signs and stars, half-aware of the fact that she was trying to stall the next few minutes of conversation. She did this for a living but, sometimes, she hated what she did—no matter how much good she might do in her life.

_"What was she like when she drank, Jonathon?"_

_"You're real obsessed about my mother, aren't you?"_

_"Gail was an abusive alcoholic Jonathon—you were abused by both your parents, that's not some little detail. I need to see how liberally you need to be sprayed with the emotional weed killer."_

_"God, that sounds stupid."_

_"Tell me about it—and then go tell Joe about it, maybe you can get him to stop the stupid speech. We're finally getting somewhere in our sessions in how you deal with Patrick. I need to see how deep your problems with Gail's alcoholism are, before you close up on me."_

_"I'm not closing up on you."_

_"Not yet—but any day now I might hit on something you can't deal with yet and you'll close up and then I won't be able to get anywhere."_

_"What the hell do you mean by that?"_

_"Now you're stalling."_

_"No, I mean, and I repeat 'What the hell do you mean by that?'"_

_"Say we brush on something that you can't—or won't—cope with yet, in one of our sessions and I have no idea what it is. You'll withdraw from me, close up on me, and I've tried to help people after that happens and Jonathon, the chances of me being able to help you after that happen get significantly lower. It helps, if I have some place to start."_

And, of course, it was after this session that he had started going quiet again, starting to close himself off and up, started staring at her with that lethal mix of fear and hate and confusion that she recognized all too well. She'd seen it in several children, kids that had been sent to her because they couldn't think of anyone else to send them to.

Some of the kids she had been able to help, listening to horror stories and things out of nightmares—children tortured with cigarettes and lighters, locked in closets and basements, starved and shamed, forced to become less than human to survive because being human, and being in those conditions, was just too hard in the end.

But the hardest were the kids that she had such difficulty reaching. She'd seen some of them grow up and live semi-stable lives, sometimes even find somebody they can spend their life with how understood why, sometimes, they acted the way they did. Others, though, hadn't turned out, had wound up on the streets or in hospitals and, more than she could sometimes bear, missing in ways they couldn't be found again.

One, well… it was simply too painful to try to visit her.

Joanna simply couldn't.

_"So, you want, what, her sign?"_

_"What was like when she drank, Jonathon?"_

_"Drunk?"_

_"Jonathon—"_

_"She wasn't that bad when she got drunk, okay? Not when she got older; she'd start falling asleep when she drank too much so she didn't always bother us. We just had to clean up after her when she puked up on the floor and that wasn't that bad, compared to what Dad would do if we left it there to just smell up the place—not that it ever smelled okay, you know?"_

_"What about before?"_

_"Before?"_

_"Yeah, you said that later on, when she got older, she'd pass out. Well, what about before?"_

She paused in her restless doodling, knowing there was nothing else on this tape or any other tape that she could find. Nothing but that look she had seen in the back of his eyes, a flickering of something so dark and horrendous that she wished, desperately, she couldn't recognize it.

But she did.

With a slow certainty, she penned in her suspicion, that hated word, beneath his name looking horribly at odds with the flowers and hearts and stars she had drawn in her quiet panic. After a moment more of thought, she underlined it three times and then, after a last heartbeat of hesitation, she added a question mark.

* * *

As usual, he hadn't eaten much of his meal.

Scowling down at Zach's tray as if it was all the food's fault—"You're to be executed at dawn for being not pretty and/or decorative enough to eat!"—a vaguely annoyed Edie covered the meal and checked that the rest of his desk had nothing else to be taken, mentally noting how terrified she was that there was an actual, swear to God, mess on his desk.

Jesus, it was like Hart had bitch-slapped him with a weird-stick before she had left him…

Noting with discontent the papers that lay on one end of the desk, Edie glanced at them and then away quickly, feeling like she had just walked in on somebody naked. Sighing, she had just lifted up the tray carefully when the door opened and her boss entered, freezing in the doorway and meeting her eyes squarely.

For a moment, they stared at each other like two cowboys in a stand-off before, ducking his head to her in greeting—she once would have gotten a "How's Tracy today?" or a "I like the new shoes" or, if he was in a really good mood, they'd even makes some cracks about whatever was going on in the NHL at the moment—he crossed the room and then moved past her, riffling papers on his desk and not looking at her.

It felt like he was dismissing her.

Edie had no problem with being dismissed, not on the whole, but this was different in some way that made her dizzy for a moment. She had spent almost fifteen years with this man, doing every job imaginable for him, and asking for nothing. And, somehow, she had become more than his helper, she had become his confidant.

When she had gotten sick, after five years of service and her daughter had been staying at her sister's, he had showed up and spent the week with her, bringing her meals and even carrying the television into the bedroom so that the woman could watch her soaps without having to hobble through her house like a wraith.

When she had found out who he had once been, what he had escaped, she had kept his secret, not because she had to but because she cared about him, she cared about the man who had brought her soup in bed and brought her Tracy's pictures so that her sister wouldn't have to bring the girl to the sick house, someone who had later given her extra time off when her daughter had been going through one of her more difficult phases.

For a moment, feeling dismissed like that, like she was just some person who didn't mean anything to him, she had a sudden vision of herself throwing down the tray and screaming or possibly throwing the tray at him and screaming at him until he acted like himself again or, just maybe, dropping the tray, screaming at him and then hitting him over the head with something heavy—perhaps enough to fix him?

They flickered, in rapid succession, through her mind's eye and she sucked in a sharp breath, a flush of heat filling her and, again, her damn imagination went into overdrive, picturing that scene from _Clue_ where the woman talked about feeling flames on her face or something like that—Tracy was the fan of _Clue_, not her.

The anger faded into a deep hurt, something painful and slicing, feeling as if someone had just gutted her and made her watch while what had once been a part of her was grilled up and served with steak sauce. And then, with a sudden heartbeat, she was angry again, almost irrationally so, clenching her teeth and the tears drying up before they could even fall.

Angry retorts and hateful things flew to mind, a million things that knew that could destroy anything that remained of them, things that had been entrusted to her and only her. God, the things she could use against him, use to hurt him and break him and shame him and nothing that he hadn't already felt because, truly, who could hate Zach Slater more than he already hated himself?

When she did speak, it felt like hours later, instead of the minute that had actually passed and her voice was oddly calm when it came, as if she had come to some great decision within herself that, indeed, she had been right about something that was horribly sad to her, horribly painful to see.

"What the Hell's happened to you?"

* * *

Acutely aware of Josh's hand on the small of her back, propelling her into the room, Kendall found herself quite unable and unwilling to fight him. She had nothing to go back out to that dining room for. Maybe Bianca and JR, on some level, but no one and nothing else and so, listening to the quiet click of the door shutting behind her.

"What is this about?"

Josh shrugged, reminding her forcefully of Bianca and she closed her eyes for a moment, fighting back that swift flood of emotion that suddenly overwhelmed her, seeming to swallow her whole before she could stop it. When she had her breath back and her eyes opened, he was simply gazing at her, almost as if he could see what she was thinking.

He'd hate her if he ever saw into her head.

"Josh—"

Her voice was roughened with painful feeling and not strong and he cut it off with a staggering ease as he slipped past her slightly, tapping a folder against one hand absently, brows furrowed and frown firmly on his face, again reminding her harshly of Bianca, more pain answering the images that rose in her mind's eye.

"You know I love you, right?"

Something inside her stilled with a sudden flicker of fright, disquieted by such words from him. She hadn't known him long technically, and hadn't gotten the chance to meet him in the way that she had formed a connection to Bianca yet there was one there, an understanding that had left her with a simple certainty, after just one conversation with him, that he was not what could be called an emotional man—at least not in public.

Except for that day in the hospital, Tad's blood and his father's decorating his hands and clothes. But even then, he had slunk off to lick his wounds in private, had hidden himself away in an empty hospital room, away from people who would comfort him to ease his own hurts and pain because, she knew innately, he hated being seen like that.

She didn't know why, really, but who was she to go on about someone else's issues?

"I know," she mumbled quietly, looking anywhere but at those hauntingly familiar eyes—eyes like hers and Bianca's and their mother's—that pinned her down, filled with something that only be called heartbreaking understanding. Her fingers picked at the cloth of her dress, noting that she probably looked as horrible as Erica had said she did… mother, of course, was always right.

Even if it hurt.

"Kendall—"

"Josh!"

Kendall jumped slightly, twisting halfway to look at the doorway, where Bianca stood warily, Chris on one hip and complete focus on the older man, looking visibly shaken and unsure. "Bianca—" But the youngest Kane daughter shook her head furiously, slipping in and closing the door behind her, seemingly trying to pin Josh down with her eyes.

Josh, it seemed, was naturally immune to her baby-browns.

"Stay out of this, St. Bianca," he snapped irritably, gesturing angrily towards the youngest person with the folder in his hand, jerking his head at Kendall in the same movement. Bianca's eyes, settled on the folder, welled up, an almost imperceptible glance at her big sister revealing some strong emotion that Kendall couldn't put her finger on.

"There's got to be a gentler way than this," she whispered urgently, shifting Chris on her hip and taking several steps forward closer to Josh. Seeing his mother close enough to touch, the little boy began to stretch out his arms, gazing up at her eagerly, with those same eyes—eyes that loved her and hated her and didn't care how she felt and cared more than anyone else—and she took a shaky step backward, away from his hands, desperate suddenly.

"So says the woman who kept Babe's lies while another parent grieved? I mean, how many months would you have kept that particular little gem if Chandler hadn't have figured it out?" he hissed and she flinched, falling back a step, looking away from him and at her feet, shifting Chris helplessly on her hip. "You act like you like him, or something!"

"If Chandler dropped dead this second, I wouldn't give a damn but, Bianca, I know the look of someone playing God, believe me-or have you forgotten my father?"

"I, just— why don't we take her to Myrtle's or… or somewhere else, where she can think about everything and deal with it?" Bianca was actually pleading with him, trying to hold on to a now fussy Chris and also keep Josh's eyes. "Chris, sweetie—" The boy let out a sudden howling shriek, twisting to Kendall completely and reaching out with both arms and Bianca staggered, taken by surprise by the sudden force the boy was showing. "Kendall, help—"

Apparently deciding that whatever they were fighting about could wait, Josh moved forward, trying to help but the boy only fought more, tears now streaking his face as he made useless gestures at his mother, moving with far more strength than Kendall had ever seen before. She took a quick step back, but not fast enough and he grabbed onto her dress, shrieking and she panicked.

Her throat closed for a moment, her heart skipping several beats as an painful sort of panic swallowed her whole, stealing her ability to do anything but stare dumbly at the child now yanking and tugging, attempting to either pull her and himself closer, to get back in her arms and, before she quite knew it, she had shrieked right back, high-pitched and terrified.

_"Keep him away from me!"_


	18. Chapter 18

_**Stupid**_

_Chapter Eighteen_

* * *

_The alcohol needed to be stronger._

_Tossing back the next shot of brandy, grimacing slightly at the taste, he motioned for the next one almost angrily. The bartender, setting it down, studied him intently for a few seconds and Josh shook his head in quiet disgust, knowing that his face was now famous, thrown on every tabloid across the nation._

_"Maternity Revelation for Kane!"_

_"Mad Doctor's Mad Offspring!"_

_All this, just a week after the murder, and it was almost too much to take. For a few days, it had been so important to find the person who had killed the famous Dr. Madden but now no one really cared. Evil Dr. Madden had dared to hurt poor Erica Kane so, of course, he'd had it coming, right?_

_Josh snorted, bitterly, giving the bartender a slashing look that made the woman look away._

_"You look horrible," Babe Carey muttered, sliding onto the stool next to him and studying him closely. "I heard about—"_

_"Everybody's heard about it," he hissed viciously, turning slightly to stare at her. "You know what this means, don't you? You stole my niece, since, you know, Bianca's my pretty baby sister now…" He tilted his head, sneered. "Is it true, what you and her did in Vegas, playing lesbo lovers in beddy-bed to get back at Chandler?"_

_She paled, slightly, eyes flicking to him almost shamefully before she mumbled something about making mistakes._

_He laughed at her, running the pad of his first finger along the glass, gazing down into the depths, searching for his answers, knowing that there were none to be found but still searching anyway. "If she wasn't my pretty little baby sister, I'd have paid to see that, let me tell you." He looked up, looked at her with a nasty smile, explaining, "There's a reason lesbian porn's so popular with men, you know."_

_Carey suddenly seemed to be nervous._

_"You're drunk."_

_"Not yet, but I'm getting there," he promised, holding up the glass and saluting her mockingly before swallowing it down quickly, dropping the shot glass down to the counter and motioning for another one. On second thought, he grabbed the woman's wrist when she reached to pick up the glass, explaining "Get me tequila, bar girl—no, you know what? Just bring me the bottle, eh?"_

_When she rushed off to obey, apparently unwilling to piss off an angry Kane, he turned in his seat and gave her his undivided attention, moving one knee closer to her thigh, asking, "You gonna serve me up, Babe— fall back on those bar tending skills of yours?" When she did nothing but fiddle with the counter, he shifted attention to her skirt, a knee-length pink number._

_"Babe?"_

_She looked over at him warily, brown eyes filled with something he recognized as the seedy little bastard he was and he arched one eyebrow, looking more closely at what she was wearing. After checking twice mentally, he leaned closer, plucking at the hem of her skirt with one finger playfully. "There a reason you tracked me down in that outfit, Babe?"_

_When his finger caught the slit, tugged cautiously, she didn't smack his hand away; taking that as a clear invitation, he let his hand settle there, not moving higher but simply settled there, thumb hooked underneath the cloth as he studied her intently. "I asked you a question, Babe—is there a reason you're pulling your sex-on-a-stick act with me?"_

_There was a long silence, her brown eyes filled with a mix of unspeakable emotions and her lip quivering the smallest bit. Then, eyes flicking back at him, she whispered, "She left me here." When he just stared, not getting it, she passed her shaky hand across her face, whispering, "Mama… she left me and she isn't coming back."_

_"You're just fucking with me, right?"_

_Brown eyes filled with tears, a lip quivered more than before and he chocked on sudden laughter, not sure why he found it all so funny. "Mama left her precious baby, huh?" when he got no answer, he began to laugh outright, reaching out to snatch the bottle of tequila from the nervous young bartender._

_"Does Chandler drink it in shots?"_

_He got no answer and rolled his eyes, grabbing the two glasses from the woman's other hand. Setting one glass before both of them, he cracked open the bottle and then grinned sideways at the blonde, arching one eyebrow lightly. "This is the good stuff, Babe—no lime or salt needed."_

_Pouring them both a liberal amount, he set the bottle down and then held up her glass, a few inches from her face. "You and Chandler like tequila, right?" She said nothing, studying the glass in front of her with emotional brown eyes. "You do realize that, right now, you look like nothing so much as a cheap piece of ass, don't you?"_

_"She left me."_

_"I thought she was shacked up with daddy Chandler?"_

_"She took his money—I mean, he was going to dump her so she took his money and left him—left us." She paused, reached out and cautiously took the glass, staring down into it. When his hand settled again on her leg, fingers slipping lightly beneath the cloth of her skirt, brushing the skin, she didn't slap it off._

_He took it as what it was._

* * *

"Keep him away from me!"

For a moment, following that shriek, there was only silence, thick and twisted, broken finally by Chris, who lost all control and threw back his head, beginning to scream outright. Releasing his mother, twisting away from her, he wrapped one arm around Bianca's neck and clung to her, the wet from his face staining the pale cloth of her dress.

Bianca wouldn't look at Kendall—she stared away, down, and not at all at Kendall.

Her sister hated her.

It was a crushing force, something that ground her down in a matter of moments, shattered something tenuous and fragile that she had been working so hard to keep safe, to keep secret. And now it was gone, swept away and it was simply too much to take. Kendall swallowed, her throat aching from holding too much in and then she shook her head slowly, looking from her sister to Josh.

"Josh, maybe now isn't the best—"

If Josh heard Bianca over the screaming child, he gave her no response, just twisted the folder in his hands slowly, staring at Kendall silently, as if struggling with himself. Heartbeats ticked by, the only sound the sobs and shrieks of the child who refused to be comforted despite Bianca's best attempts to sooth him and, with a sudden jerk of his head, Josh held out the folder.

Kendall, very suddenly, didn't want it.

She shook her head, slowly, not letting him look away from her. When he refused to lower it, refused to let it go away, she managed a cracked whisper of "I don't want it," the sound carrying with frightening ease over the noise from the boy, strangled emotion in it grinding down the anger and pain of the child's wailing. "You have to read it—take it."

"Please don't make me."

Something dark and hidden shifted in his gaze and he took a step closer, holding the item even closer to her, an order and a plea shining in his eyes as the hand holding it trembled the smallest bit. Her control slipped and it was Ryan, standing there, joyous and jubilant as he ripped the veils from her vision and made her see lies that she desperately didn't want to see, to know the truth of.

Ryan had been so… _happy_.

The way he had spoken, voice choked with something almost like a child's glee; the look in his eyes as he showed her what Zach had done, as if he had just saved her from some horrible beast, some horrible monster that she, apparently, had been too stupid to see; how proud he had looked as he saw it sinking into her.

"Kendall, please—"

Josh didn't look happy—there was nothing but something horrible and heartbroken in his face, in the way he looked at her, in the grim something that made his arm shake the smallest bit as he begged her silently to just take it and read it. He looked so unhappy; he looked like he was in so much pain and she closed her eyes for a moment, feeling as if she was looking in the mirror.

Swallowing, she took the folder, gazing down at it for a moment of silence before, with a finger, she opened it, staring down for a moment not quite grasping what she was seeing. The picture was hazy, grainy, but she still made it out easily, taking in the sight of the two people.

_Oh, God…_

* * *

Dixie wasn't around.

Slipping into Martin's hospital room, drumming his fingers along the clipboard in one hand, David paused before the bed, studying the shape silently, hearing nothing other than the mechanized breathing. Finally, sighing unhappily, David stepped forward, coming around the bed to still beside his head.

Dropping the syringe into his palm, he fingered it for a moment before dropping the clipboard onto an empty spot on the bed and shifting attention back to the comatose body. "I'm actually real sorry about this, Martin—although I totally understand if you don't believe me." He got no response, of course, but he had hoped he wouldn't.

Flicking the top off the syringe, checking its levels carefully before setting it gently on the desk beside the bed, he lifted up the limp arm from the bed, turning it and studying it, running two fingers along the skin. Finding no hint of his last dosage, not that he had been that worried that there was anything to find, he searched slowly for the vein, finding it after several heartbeats.

Again checking the dosage, he finally sterilized the skin, by way of an alcoholic wipe in his shirt pocket, and in a smooth movement, had injected the full amount of medication into the comatose Martin, eyes on the monitors for any change. Seconds passed before there was a change, the pulse increasing for several beats before once falling back into the steady slow pace.

Perfect.


	19. Chapter 19

_**Stupid** _

All I know  
is everything is not as it's sold  
but the more I grow the less I know  
And I have lived so many lives  
Though I'm not old  
And the more I see, the less I grow  
The fewer the seeds the more I sow

I wish I hadn't seen all of the realness  
And all the real people are really not real at all  
The more I learn, the more I learn  
The more I cry, the more I cry  
As I say goodbye to the way of life  
I thought I had designed for me

- Nelly Furtado, 'Try'

* * *

Chapter Nineteen

* * *

Ethan's lawyer was a twenty-something young male with a flawless manicure and perfect white teeth that could blind you when they caught the light just right, and Zach instantly disliked him on sight. Nerves still raw with – emotion, he found the sight of the man almost too much to take.

Edie didn't like him—but then Edie didn't like anything that might possibly upset her boss.

Aware of the fact that he probably didn't look as good as he usually did—Edie's response to him coming into work had been a rather blunt "You look like shit—please, go back home and go back to sleep, okay?"—had been enough to make him cringe inwardly as he brushed off her best attempts to make him go back home.

He didn't have a home, not really.

"What is this all about?"

"I'm here representing the affairs of my late employer, Mr. Cambias—" Here Zach pondered how quickly Ethan had changed his last name, decorated himself with what his own father had always been so proud of and he blinked rapidly, rubbing his hand across his face. "—and in the interest of some of his last wishes, I am here to invite you to the dedication of the new hospital wing Mr. Cambias had been helping to build."

The yuppie must have seen the flicker of confusion he wasn't quite able to hide and smiled condescendingly, offering, "The new cancer wing, Mr. Slater?" Zach's heart suddenly stopped, halting in mid-beat and strangling him for a long moment, stealing his breath and destroying his control in a rush of hot, and then cold. "Cancer wing?"

"Yes, Mr. Slater, the newest addition to the Pine Valley hospital. My employer told me about your dear mother" Grinning, shrugging, Ethan's lawyer—Robert, the nasty little prick's name was Robert—spread his hands out mockingly, plowing ahead almost lightly, "Mr. Cambias' grandmother? Cancer, right…?

Zach was a heartbeat away from breaking his neck, and held his breath, using to keep himself under control, noting how close the other man was, how fast he himself could be when he needed to be. "My mother has nothing to do with this conversation, Mr. Brent—I'd appreciate it if you keep her out of this."

For a moment, the grin faltered and he hesitated, staring at Zach Slater almost fearfully for several seconds of silence, brittle looking and frightened before, as if suddenly realizing just how much money he had made since becoming Ethan's main lawyer, he smiled again, completely, blindingly white teeth flashing. "Your mother would be honored, you realize—her grandson came up with it because of her, of course."

"He named it after her?"

"No, of course not… it's been named in honor of his grandfather, Alexander Cambias—your father?"

* * *

Kendall waited for the justification.

Waited for Josh to say that it was a joke, waited for Bianca to step up and say that it was a lie or that it wasn't true, waited for someone to come out and tell her why. Her thumb ran along the edge of the top photo, taking in the image of Ryan and the blonde—Di, Di Kirby-Henry-whateverhernamewasthisyear, who apparently hated her as much she hated JR—and then the background, the park where Bianca took Chris every few days to play.

Where Ryan would take Chris to play…

And there it was, Chris' diaper bag, sitting on the bench behind them, evidence of a play date scattered around them. She flipped the photo away suddenly, took in the shot of the two of them, touching, holding… watching Chris play on a blanket while they… frolicked was the only word she could pull to mind, and she hated it, hated that the word connected to what she was seeing.

The first flickers of dazed anger shifted into outright agony when she shifted her gaze to the next pictures, a handful of images, snapshots of… she wondered, absently, where the photographer must have been standing to get such glimpse into—and then she realized that it was a brick wall behind them and something in her mind clicked into place.

_Hands beginning to tug at a belt, beginning to tear at a dress… mouths devouring, fingers gripping skin now peeking from beneath cloth, bruising flesh… a flash of a breast, and then the male hand that kneaded it roughly…_ Kendall shuddered, hard, her body rejecting, refusing to see what her loyalty had brought her.

She had let him— her already savage resistance suddenly attacked her and she gagged viciously, hard enough to tear up in pain at the abrupt ripping feeling within her, as if something she had depended on had been torn to pieces. She threw the folder down, clamping a hand over her mouth and doubling over, bile threatening to choke her.

Hands made a grab for her, to hurt her more and she stumbled back, still struggling not to heave anything that might have been left inside her. "Stay away—" Bianca hated her, and how couldn't she? How couldn't she hate her, with how she was treating her son? "Don't touch me—" Bianca hated her…

She did the only thing she could—she ran.

* * *

JR Chandler was a busy man.

Between trying to help Kendall in some way—even if it meant putting up with the man-whore known as Josh Madden—and helping his family with the rapidly approaching nuptials, he was almost running on fumes. Kate was a big part of his exhaustion, seeing as how his mother wasn't around and Jamie was running around Jonathon Lavery like a loyal puppy.

JR had his own suspicions as to why his brother was running after Lavery—and they were all, well… yeah…

The fact that the nanny didn't have any interest in him, apparently, was migraine-inducing all on its own, to say nothing of being enough to frustrate any person seriously seeking someone to at least put up with him full-time, someone to spend his life with who understood the meaning of fidelity and loyalty.

Erin, damn it all to Hell, didn't seem all that interested.

Rubbing his face, ear aching from the florist's high-pitched voice on the other end, demanding to know exactly what shade of white roses Brooke wanted for the ceremony, he snapped the phone closed and set it on the table beside his plate of picked-at food, sighing tiredly as he tried to stretch the smallest bit.

"What kind of flowers is Ms. Brooke going to get?"

JR shot Miranda a look and the girl, grinning and blushing furiously, went back to playing with her food, piling her mashed potatoes and peas sky-high in an apparent imitation of that alien movie with what's-his-name. A second later, however, he found himself smacked in the cheek with a carrot, which bounced off his face, then off his lap and finally to the floor.

He needed sex, he decided as he bent down to scoop up the fallen vegetable, lots and lots of sex. He jumped, yelping, when a trickle of icy water suddenly passed across his neck. Gasping, jerking, he snapped his head up to meet Miranda's massive smile, a melting ice cube in one small hand. "Did you do that?" he demanded, already knowing the answer but asking anyway.

"I'm bored."

"So you put ice on my neck?"

"No."

He gave her a look and she shrugged, replying in her light and annoying angelic voice, "I didn't put it on your neck… I just held it over your neck and let the water drop onto your neck." He squinted at her and, grinning again, even more broadly, she explained plaintively, "I'm bored… 'Aggie usually plays food monster with me."

He had no idea Stone was so good with dinner games. Instructing the girl absently to put the ice cube back—falling back on his own mother's once annoying mantra of "Put that back, you have no idea where it's been!"—he searched for any sign of Madden, Bianca or Kendall and, of course, found none.

"I've got to go to the bathroom."

He jumped sky-high, snapping his head around to meet Erin's eyes. "Huh?" She gave a sudden nervous laugh, as if she was as tense as he was feeling. Well, considering everything most likely happening not that far away, he couldn't blame her. Still, at least she wouldn't be running after Lavery, to see his poor little feelings would be hurt. "I have to go pee, JR."

"Good for you."

She smacked his shoulder, rolling his eyes as she trudged off, looking as if she was carrying some massive weight along with her. He'd seen it before but, still, it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up—at least those not glued down with ice water, of course. She cast him one last odd glance before vanishing out the doors, and, for a second or two, he considered following.

And then Miranda, giggling, threw another carrot at him, this one smacking his arm and tumbling to the ground.

Damn it.


	20. Chapter 20

_**Stupid** _

What have I become  
My sweetest friend  
Everyone I know goes away  
In the end  
And you could have it all  
My empire of dirt  
I will let you down  
I will make you hurt

I wear this crown of thorns  
Upon my liar's chair  
Full of broken thoughts  
I cannot repair  
Beneath the stains of time  
The feelings disappear  
You are someone else  
I am still right here

What have I become  
My sweetest friend  
Everyone I know goes away  
In the end  
And you could have it all  
My empire of dirt  
I will let you down  
I will make you hurt

- Johnny Cash, 'Hurt'

* * *

Chapter 20

* * *

"You think I'm kidding, don't you?"

It was the tone, not the words, that made her raise her head from her lap, meeting Jack's eyes and inwardly cringing at what she found there. Now gone silent as he tossed his glasses to the coffee table, he was shaking his head slightly when his eyes finally came back to her, fearless in their intensity. "You don't think I'm serious about this, do you?"

"You act like I don't know what I'm doing."

Jack just stared at her and, giving herself a mental shake, Erica stood, crossing to the other side of the room to gather up the bridal magazines, turning back to him and holding them up, grinning broadly at him. "Why can't you just be happy for them, Jack? Is it too much to ask for you to support me in this?"

"I'm trying to support Kendall, the girl I promised to love like my own children when we marred… remember Kendall?"

Heaving a sigh that came from her toes, Erica tossed the magazines at him and he caught them easily, only to slam them rather savagely down onto the table, rattling the empty mug that had contained his morning coffee. "Jack, I'm doing this for Kendall! This is all for Kendall!" she snapped.

"I don't think it is."

"Oh, like you care at all!" She was getting upset, almost irrationally so, and he was still staring at her, as if he knew more her daughter than she did! "I know what's right for Kendall, Jack, and she has waited for so long to get Ryan back. Greenlee's gone—don't look at me like that, Jack, she stole Ryan from Kendall—"

"You can't steal a person, Erica… Ryan chose to marry Greenlee—"

"Greenlee stole Ryan from Kendall and tormented her with it, and it was disgusting, you know that! And this is so long in coming, Jack, and Kendall has been waiting for so long… this is her happy ending, you know that." When he shook his head instead, sighing wearily and rubbing his face, she added, almost desperately, "Would you rather she go back to that beast of a man?"

"Actually, Erica, I'd rather she settle for neither of jackasses," he muttered, looking up and adding, "I'm not telling her to go back to Slater, Erica, I'm not telling her to do anything." He shook his head again, more savagely, and continued, "it's not advisable to push any pregnant woman into anything, especially not after going through an explosion… she's pregnant and it's a difficult pregnancy, remember?"

"Yes, she's pregnant— with Ryan's baby!"

"He has no rights to that child, Erica; the only part he had in creating that baby was a Playboy and a cup… that's it." He paused, hesitated, and then plunged on, taking the risk as he persisted, "I think Kendall is suffering from enough stress, don't you? Caught in an explosion, her world turned upside down, only to have you shove down her throat that Ryan is the key to her happiness?"

"Well, he is!"

"You're wrong."

"Stop it."

"Erica, you're not thinking clearly. Kendall needs unyielding support right now, not to have her beloved mother manipulating her into marriage—"

"I'm not manipulating her!"

"If you don't stop this, you're going to regret it." Again, it was the tone that caught her, and she looked at him, nervous and wary, swallowing at the cool gaze she found directed at her, features chilly and almost empty in their sureness. "Jack—" He didn't let her finish, standing and pulling his jacket from the couch and shrugging into it quickly. "Erica, don't push me to my limits, not on this. I've already lost one daughter because of Ryan Lavery, I refuse to lose another."

* * *

"Tea?"

The voice, perky and pleasant and slightly desperate sounding, did not go unnoticed by Brooke, who looked up from the Post-It note in one hand to cock one eyebrow at Amanda Dillon, looking as pretty as ever, Styrofoam cup in one hand and a bag of wraps and other food in the other. "Is that a bribe?"

"What?"

Amanda wasn't quite as gifted as she thought she was at lying—at least not to Brooke English…

Soon to be English-Chandler, she thought absently, fiddling with the engagement ring with her thumb, turning it thoughtfully. Only Adam Chandler would buy a woman a ring like this, one of a kind and big enough to pass as one of Colby's crystal quartz pendants, although much more refined.

"You don't need to fondle the ring again, Brooke; I see it and it's very pretty."

Brooke shot the young woman a sharp look, even as she flushed slightly, annoyed despite herself. Remembering that she was the more mature person in the room—which Adam insisted was completely untrue—Brooke dropped the slip of paper to the desk, studying Amanda intently. "Is there something you need to tell me, Amanda?"

"Neon green's not your color?"

"Do you know what I found on my desk?"

"Papers and pens and a computer, oh my?"

Clearly, Amanda was in full smart-ass mode. Fighting to keep from smirking in amusement, Brooke tapped the Post-It note with a finger, making sure that her ring caught the light just right. "Josh Madden left me a very courteous note, on my desk—would you like to know what it said?"

"Go ahead, I don't care," Amanda chirped far too lightly, now digging food out of the bag and setting it out on the desk, coolly avoiding Brooke's gaze. "Ah, well, if you wish," Brooke murmured gravely, plucking the paper back up and reading it aloud with as much drama as she could muster in her voice.

"'Dear Brooke, Mandy-girl gave me the keys to this place and your office so I could steal something. Please, it was no trouble at all, so don't worry about it.'" Here Amanda gave the faintest snort under her breath, still avoiding Brooke's eyes. "'PS—don't fire Dillon, I'll probably need her to help me get in here again, since I have many enemies and you might just get something on their asses when I need it most.'"

Looking like nothing so much as a stiff-legged angry feline, Amanda set Brooke's plastic container of fruit before her, along with an ice tea and the magazines that Brooke had asked her to pick up for her. "I'm going to kill him when I find him," Amanda muttered, and Brooke ignored her, selecting the first magazine and flipping it open to the section about the new uses of rose petals.

"What is he going to be doing with all that stuff anyway?" Brooke asked lightly, stopping on a page with bold writing that read "Are you too old to get married?!" Freezing, she opened her mouth and then snapped it shut, eyebrows disappearing into her hair before she quickly shut the magazine and tossed it in the trash.

And found Amanda studying her with a pitying expression.

It was enough to make Brooke roll her eyes, drawling, "I'm too old for pity from a young twenty-something shacked up with an evil doctor." At Amanda's look, she added lightly, "Not that David's evil or anything, and, yes, I remember out last conversation," opening up her wrap and studying it, deciding that it was one of the best she had ever seen.

"You're not too old to get married," Amanda finally assured her, pulling the magazine out of the trash and opening it to the offending page to rip out the sheets that held the story, crinkling them up and tossing them back into the can. "If I can get with Dr. Evil, you can get back with you evil bastard of a ex-husband again."

"There's no similarity."

"Hah!" Tossing the now non-offensive magazine onto the desk, deciding to ignore the man-whore Josh and his nasty idea of humor, she reached into the bag one last time, pulling out a small heap of color plates, various shades of cream and green, and held them up for Brooke brightly. "Now, you old geezer, exactly which shade do you want for the flowers?"

* * *

This was _Edie_.

Hearing the heavy thunk of the tray setting down on the table side table, he turned slowly, half-afraid of what he would see. For long moments, he regarded her, taking in the tell-tale signs of her emotions, from the fighting stance she had somehow shifted into in the last heartbeats to the almost violent look in dark eye.

He wondered if she had any how imposing she looked.

For a moment, staring at her, he hated her—hated her for caring, hated her for holding on so tightly when all he wanted to do was let go, hated her for being the one who knew his secrets and didn't hate him for them, hated her for standing there and looking at him and knowing that he could never really hate her.

Because, in the end, despite everything, this was _Edie_.

"Edie—"

"Help me narrow it down, that's all I'm asking," she snapped bluntly, shaking her head coolly as she began stalking around in front of him. "I mean, it's either your son or the ex-wife and while I think it's about a hundred other things in addition to that—and, yes, I'm including the precious little princess in here—I need a good place to start, okay?"

He stared at her, forcing himself to stay still, feeling like a hunted animal at the look in her eyes when she finally stopped, glaring at him, and grinding the toe of her heel into the carpet of his floor. Making an angry noise like a drowned cat, Edie started pacing again, reaching up to rub her face furiously with the heels of her hands. "Damn, I'm trying, really hard, not to just punch you, okay?"

"Edie—"

"I didn't say you could talk yet!" she muttered, shooting him a slashing look even as she spun and looked at him expectantly, as if waiting for him to finally speak. "Look, I get that things have been bad, okay? I get that, I do and I get what you went through when you lost your son, even if I didn't like him. But then, you know that I understand," she added more softly, reaching up to tuck strands of hair behind her ear. "You held my hand when she died, and you helped me through that."

"Edie—"

"We've got a long history, Zach—a lot of years and a lot of time that we've pissed each other off and still gave a damn, okay? And I've tried to be quiet but I can't do it anymore, okay?" She set her hands on her hips, set her complete attention on him and he grimaced inwardly, having forgotten what it was like to have her completely focus on him. "Will you please talk to me?"

"Are you going to interrupt me again?"

"Stop it."

His attempt at a forced smile of uncaring faded, withered, as she stared him down and he finally stopped, just stopped, life draining away as she stripped him to his core, making him hate her again, for a moment, hating that he had let himself trust her for so long that she had become a part of him, a something that once kept him sane in his solitude.

Feeling suddenly helpless, he dropped his hands into his pockets, swallowing silently and cursing the fact that he was unable to look at her, and she sighed in answer, quiet and soft, closing her eyes for a moment, looking as beaten down and worn as he felt inside. "Zach, boss, give me a place to start, okay? Give me a place to start to help you, that's all I'm asking."

"It really doesn't matter anymore."

"If it matters to you, Zach, it matters."

More silence, their gazes frozen, neither willing to look away, unwilling to lose what strenuous hint of control they had managed to get their hands on. He broke first though, something that had never happened before like this, and looked away, focusing intently on the floor beneath his feet. "Please stop caring."

"I can't." A pause, heavy and painful and then her voice was back, softer but no less firm, still unyielding in its force. "I can't, not after all this. I picked up and I moved here, because of you, and Tracy came along because she cares, too. We give a damn, Zach, and it doesn't matter how badly you treat us or ignore us, because we know you."

"So did he—"

"Ethan didn't know you, Zach, he never even tried." He opened his mouth uselessly, and was cut off, cleanly and easily, as she moved forward several steps, hands lifting as if to settle on his arms before dropping dully at her side. "He wanted the money, Zach, and he wanted to hurt you… that's all he ever wanted. And making yourself believe something other than that is just going to make it worse."

"It really doesn't matter anymore," he assured her again, more desperately, feeling his walls strain, walls he had put up so long ago for _exactly_ this reason, to keep those he was foolish enough to let close get inside him and make their marks on him, marks that became scars that left him worn out and hollow. "Trust me on that."

* * *

The book wasn't all that interesting and after what seemed like forever spent rereading the same page over and over again, Dixie dropped it to her side, heaving a sigh when she unfolded her legs from under her. A moment later, she grimaced when muscles revolted against her, and she reached down, rubbing the heel of her hand against her thigh, kneading flesh that had been put back together the hard way.

It was only a matter of time before she would be able to predict the weather with all her aching joints.

When she stood, she immediately sat back down, her legs apparently not thinking she was ready to be walking around. A glance at the clock showed that she had been sitting there for more than an hour. She wished, for a moment, that she was back in one of her comas, since those had been the only times in the last several years that she hadn't been in pain, physical or otherwise.

There, all things had been perfect, even if she had known on some level that what she was seeing so clearly wasn't real.

Sucking in a quiet breath, she forced herself to her feet again, succeeding this time as she caught her balance completely, wondering why it was so bad today. It hadn't been this stiff in several months, and it was a sudden harshness that left her slightly dazed by its intensity, running hands across the back of her neck to lift hair that suddenly stuck with a cold sweat.

Maybe she needed a hot shower.

Or maybe coffee, she decided absently, continuing her ministrations to her leg as she made her way carefully across the room to the table that held her uneaten meal, noting with annoyance that her cup of bland hospital coffee was cold. Sighing, knowing better than to try to carry anything when any of her once-mangled body parts were being difficult, she instead promised, "I'll be back in a minute," to her comatose ex-husband and slipped out of the room, blinking several times to adjust to the sudden change in activity and noise.

Compared to the rest of the hospital, Tad's room was a tomb, albeit one with a lovely view.

The pain was beginning to ease and she started off down the hall, making her way towards the waiting area, where she'd be able to get herself something now that her food was cold and old… "And so very full of mold," she mumbled softly under her breath, stopping at the realization of what she had just said, closing her eyes and promising herself silently that she would stop watching _Spongebob Squarepants_ every day before _Jerry Springer_.

Sometimes watching Jerry made her feel normal.

A second before entering the waiting room, she froze, recognizing the voice inside and sighing slightly in annoyance. Opening the door and poking her head in, she found her first thoughts were right when she found Babe speaking angrily on the phone, pacing back and forth angrily.

She looked pissed, something that gave Dixie a small thrill of pleasure.

"Anything the matter, Babe?" she finally asked, entering completely and getting another flare of amusement when the younger woman spun, looking like she had been executed for a moment, so strong was her look of being taken by surprise. "Dixie?" Blinking rapidly, and looking extraordinarily guilty, she snapped her phone closed and jammed it into her bag, staring at Dixie as if the older woman had suddenly grown two heads.

Dixie, personally, was too weary to grow two heads; it sounded too much like labor to her, and she had yet to have a labor that didn't end in some sort of heartbreak, whether it be her firstborn on a breathing machine because he couldn't use his lungs or her last child, gone for so long she didn't completely recognize her when she saw her, even now.

"What are you doing here?" she finally asked, passing the oddly jumpy Babe to pull a Styrofoam cup off the table, blowing out of the dust without a thought before filling it with the horrid coffee, still thankful at how hot it was despite how bad it tasted. Once she would have had sugar, and maybe cream but, like everything else these days, the thought of anything extra struck a jarring chord in her.

"I asked you a question," she continued, slapping on the lid and then looking back at her wide-eyed ex-daughter-in-law, lifting her eyebrows curiously, glad for something to get her mind off unhappy thoughts that she so often drowned in these days. Just when she opened her mouth again, to repeat the question, Babe finally blurted out, "I could ask you the same question, Dixie."

Jesus, it was like dealing with a spoiled five year old.

Apparently, Babe's response didn't get the reaction she was hoping for, since she swallowed nervously suddenly, looking over her shoulder and then back at Dixie, snapping childishly, "I'm looking for my father; I'm sure you saw him running around?" Staring at her, Dixie decided that the girl was clearly completely out of her element, no matter how many diamonds and designer bags she covered herself in now.

If anything, Babe had been getting worse and worse, harder and harder to deal with over the past months. She'd always irritated Dixie; from the first moment Dixie had spotted her at the Mardi Gras Ball, a little girl trying so hard to be an adult that Dixie had felt an odd sort of disgusted pity for her. Now, though, the young woman simply pissed her off.

Sighing, taking in the way Babe was now fiddling with the jewelry at her earlobes, Dixie finally gave up on her control and focused all attention on the last Carey in Pine Valley, bracing a hand on the counter at her side and leaning against it, promising herself that she would soak herself later in hot water, because it was really truly painful today. "Why do you want to talk to David anyway? At least when JR disowned me, he stuck to it."

"I need to talk to him," she snapped but Dixie waved the words off, not impressed in the slightest and offended that the young woman even thought that expensive jewelry could sway Dixie's feelings for her at all. "I'm going to tell you the truth Babe—I'm so beyond sick of turning around in this hospital and finding you breathing over my shoulder."

This so stated, she scooped up her coffee and stalked past Babe, going full-speed until the voice behind her stopped her at the door, making her still as Babe added lightly, "You might want to keep a closer eye on Tad." Dixie froze completely, thoughts rushing for a moment before she turned, almost irrationally angry when she ground out, "Are you threatening him?"

"Of course not," Babe assured her, an odd smile on her face as she drummed fingers along her handbag, bringing Dixie's attention down to the engagement ring there, a massive rock. "I'm just saying, you know, he's still not in good shape… I mean, if he hasn't gotten better by now, what if he never does?"

Dixie didn't buy it, not with that smile that didn't reach her eyes and the strangely excited glint in her gaze, as if silently mocking her, taunting her with what she knew hurt her worse than anything else. Dixie didn't buy it and, finally, she snapped, "Stay the Hell away from my family," before she turned and left the room, heading quickly back to Tad's room—thoroughly shaken.


	21. Chapter 21

_**Stupid** _

They painted up your secrets  
With the lies they told to you  
And the least they ever gave you  
Was the most you ever knew

And she wonders where these dreams go  
'Cause the world got in her way  
What's the point in ever trying  
Nothing's changing anyway

They press their lips against you  
And you love the lies they say  
And I tried so hard to reach you  
But you're falling anyway

- Goo Goo Dolls, 'Acoustic 3'

* * *

Chapter Twenty-One

* * *

"I don't have time for this!"

David Hayward shrugged off Amanda's annoyed shriek with an ease that instantly put him on her already overfilled shit list. Already exhausted from the explosion, and drained from the last several hours of searching Pine Valley for her not quite sane mother, Amanda had been in no mood for Jamie to drag her off to the hospital to get her injuries, a multitude of scratches and cuts, closed up.

Her already sour mood hadn't improved when Jamie proceeded to dump her on the first nurse he could find and run off to help his good for nothing brother search for Adam Chandler in the wreckage, which meant she was once again put into that all too familiar feeling of complete and utter uselessness.

She needed to find her mother.

Her attempts to flee the hospital, steal a car and restart her search had been cut off by Julia Santos, who kept badgering her, asking her with wide eyes and an annoyingly childish pitying look if she was okay, if she needed anything other than the bottle of water she kept refilling at every fountain she passed.

She needed to take care of her mother.

Now, while he stitched up the admittedly ugly gash across her forehead, she resisted the urge to stab him with something and try her escape again, even as she knew it would be a failure. Past his shoulder, she could see Santos pacing back and forth, no doubt planning to grab her when she was done and stuff her into some kid zone of the death zone, something that made her eye twitch slightly.

And she didn't need David Hayward stitching her up, damn it.

"I thought your ass was fired."

The only answer she got for a moment was a dark chuckle, and she glared at the only part of him she could see, the top button of the dirt-streaked button-up, unwilling to move and interrupt the stupid work. "Let's just say I know some people." As she glared all the more viciously, he finished, and set down something metal on the tray next to them, and then a hand grabbed her face, tilting it back so that he could see it more clearly, commenting, "Looks good."

"Thank you," she said, absently, already looking past him where Santos was leaning against the wall opposite the open doorway. "I was talking about the sutures," he chuckled, titling her head to the left and she looked at him, narrowing her eyes and giving him her best look of hate. He shrugged it off, damn it, and she had the feeling he was laughing at her, albeit silently.

She didn't have time for this.

* * *

Life, it seemed, always ended for a Kane woman while lightning lit up the sky above.

Tripping twice in her heels, and finally slamming down several feet from her car, she let out a grunt of pain at the feel of her breath being ripped from her body, a strangely hollow sensation in light of the emotions slicing her open like shattered glass, leaving her bare and defenseless to lay there for several moments, dazed and dizzy and devastated, staring dumbly at the wet ground underneath her.

_"My dear, selfless friend isn't carrying my baby with Ryan. She's carrying her own baby with Ryan."_

Dragging, fighting her way to her knees, smearing hands across her now dirty dress, the usually dry dirt on the concrete now sticky with rain, she clawed her way through her bag, finally upending it with a scream and rummaging through the pile with numb fingers, searching for the jingling she finally heard.

It took several tries to get to her car, knees aching and hands burning from where she'd caught her weight, wrists throbbing for some reason she wasn't sure of. Trying to get away from noises above, peals of thunder that sounded like rumbling laughter, she fought to get the door unlocked, finally managing and throwing herself into her seat, shaking and shivering as she climbed and struggled into what should have been a haven of glass and steel and black leather now marred with smudges of mud.

_"It's not my child. I want nothing to do with it."_

"Shut up!" she whispered through chattering teeth, hands shaking so badly as she worked the key into the ignition that she nearly dropped them to the floor, "Leave me alone! Go away!" With a last attempt, she got the key in and started the car, slamming her foot onto the pedal, not caring when she slid against another car, metal raking metal, spinning the wheel as she peeled out of the massive parking lot and into traffic, angry horns providing a wondrous chorus to Greenlee's words.

This was what her loyalty won her.

_"That is the biggest lie of all! You can't love me and do this to me."_

She waited for the tears and they refused to come, too small and too insignificant to let these things out, and so she sat there, hands clutching the steering wheel, white-knuckled with unshed emotion, panting as she tried to keep her head above the waters, tried to search her mind for something to use as a buffer, anything to use as a shield.

The voices became louder, a tide and she increased her speed more, choking on feeling as she tried, ironically, to focus on the thunder, something other than Greenlee and Ryan and her mother and… and Chris, shrieking and sobbing, trying to drag her down with him, trying to take from her what she didn't have to give.

She had nothing else to give.

_"You betrayed me in the most hateful possible way, and I'll always hate you for it."_

* * *

When Erica Kane entered a room, it was with all the force in her tiny body.

Josh had to admit, she could make herself an entrance, something he himself liked to do when he was in the mood. His mother, his real mother, hadn't been like that. It had been only around him that Emily had shed her shyness and fearfulness, and it had always made him proud, almost to a frightening degree, that he was the one who gave her such life.

That was gone now, like her, and he watched Erica stride into the room with a quiet flicker of bitter anger, that she was here and making bitch demands on him when the woman he loved was gone. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to calm himself, and bent to pick up the mess on the floor, pictures and papers that had driven Kendall away.

"Mom, please—"

"What the hell do you two think you are doing?!" Erica shrieked suddenly, cutting Bianca's nervous words off easily, and he raised his head, noting with a slight smirk that even crouched as he was she still looked short. "Do you think that this is a joke, Josh?! That you can—" She went quiet, such a sudden pause that he looked up again, pausing in his movements and finding her staring down at the pictures at her feet with suddenly wide brown eyes.

Wide _guilty_ brown eyes.

Eyes flicked from the images, to him, still wide with guilt and a sudden flare of outright panic, like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Her mouth opened, trembled for a moment and then snapped shut, a thin line of expensive red color against a suddenly paper-white face. "Josh—" It was a croak, and she tried again, managing a ragged grunt of "Josh, you don't—"

"Mom, you don't understand!"

Erica had apparently forgotten about her other child, for she spun suddenly, whirling to face her youngest child with still-wide eyes, staring at Bianca for a moment as if she didn't know her. And then, shooting a look over her shoulder at her stony-faced son with the too-smart eyes, she turned back to her daughter and managed a nervous laugh of "What's the matter, dear?"

Bianca, Josh decided, looked like a terrified little girl, completely out of her element and totally at a loss as to how to proceed, reminding Josh yet again why he hadn't wanted Bianca to barge in like she had. Bianca worked hard to make her world black and white, to make it clear cut and simple, that there were bad guys and good guys and nothing in between.

It was childish, and dangerous, and against every instinct Josh had been born with.

"Mom, we need to find Kendall," Bianca babbled, lunging to her mother's side with enough neediness to make Josh's teeth hurt from the sheer idiocy of it all. Even if Erica wasn't a waste of a mother, Josh still wouldn't like her because, in the end, she was too much like him to be able to take for any amount of time longer than a few minutes at most.

It was hard enough to deal with himself most days.

"I'm sure Kendall's fine, darling—" But Bianca was, again, too out of her element to take her mother's words at heart and stood there, dark eyes even more moist than usual with worry, bouncing on the balls of her feet to comfort Chris, his face pressed into her neck and the quiet murmurs of his quieted cries sounding oddly hollow to Josh's ears. "Mom, we have to go find her and help her."

"Bianca—"

Josh had very suddenly had enough; he didn't need to deal with Bianca's obsessed denial anymore, her refusal to see what people were really made of, and he straightened, giving Erica a vicious look that could have cut steel before snapping angrily in his younger sister's direction, "You're a grown woman, Bianca, act like it!"

"I told you not to do it like this!" Bianca almost shrieked, rounding on him even as she shifted Chris in her hands, settling him as she tried to keep him calm now that he was finally quieting. "I told you that it would be too much for her, Josh!" She slammed her hand into his chest; forcing him back a step as their mother looked back and forth between them, still looking dazed and disoriented. "I told you not to do it like this, damn it!"

Josh swatted her hand away, not in the mood for this with Kendall somewhere, most likely not completely sane, taking a step to the side to shove the messed up folder into Erica's dainty arms, this time making her stumble back from his force. "I have a sister to track down, Erica, and I don't have time for your histrionics." With one last nod at the two women, he strode out of the room.

* * *

When Erin Lavery smashed into him, his angry retort died on his lips, shaken by the sight of the usually overly calm woman looking dazed and angry, hints of tears in her eyes, not noticing him as she fled back to the dining hall. Frowning, feeling as if something supremely important had just happened and not sure what it was, he turned back just in time to see Di Henry flying away from the bathroom at breakneck speed.

Holy—

Ryan Lavery, the man who was the cause of all of this, was already on his shit list, having risen past JR Chandler and Jamie Martin to take first place but seeing him adjusting his tie, letting the bathroom door close behind him, Josh came to the decision that his hatred for this man made his enmity with Chandler look like a close friendship, possibly with fishing trips.

He grabbed his arm angrily when Lavery went to walk past him, jerking him backwards and then shoving him up against the wall, content to take it out on the only object of his anger close enough to beat on. "You just take the top prize, don't you?!" When he made another attempt to get past him, Josh shoved again, harder, "Do you work hard to be this much of a son of a bitch or is it a God-given talent of yours?"

"You don't—"

"I am so sick of this town and this cult that you have set up!" They were attracting a small crowd, people staring with open curiosity that only angered Josh further, wondering how many of them were waiting for the town hero to work his magic and get Erica's newest stray off his back. "Everywhere I go, these people are singing your praises— no, you know what, I can't do this— I don't have time to take care of you and your little groupie, my mother."

Shoving the taller man back, harder than before, one last time, enjoying the sound of his skull striking the wall full-force, Josh forced himself to leave the Inn, swearing to finish it later, after he had Kendall somewhere where he could de-brainwash her, maybe Antarctica or Atlantis or something, someplace where she couldn't watch _New Beginnings_, where he could see his mother flashing Lavery's picture up every five seconds as a subliminal message—

The crunch of something beneath his foot interrupted what the drenching of ice cold rain hadn't been able to, stopping and staring down for a moment, not sure what he had stepped on in the dark until the next flash of lightning illuminated the scattering of objects and he bent, recognizing the black phone he had stepped on, now a pile of broken plastic and shattered glass.

Oh, shit.

* * *

Jamie Martin left the most annoying messages in the world.

Eyes silently studying the cell phone buzzing furiously on the bar in front of him, he most likely looked like an idiot, waiting for something that he didn't even have a name for, his second drink waiting to be finished off and his fingertips drumming along the scarred wood that made up the bar.

When it finally went still, violent blue blinking on its face, he tossed back the last bit of the second drink in question to summon his courage and picked up the phone, playing his messages for the fifth time in the last two hours, four other messages, all filled with Jamie's annoyingly unselfish caring, bugging him, wanting to know where he was.

Jonathon himself had no real idea where he was.

He listened to the first four, not quite willing to skip them, and finally leaned against the bar when the new one started, easily picking up the way that Jamie's voice had gone from worried to almost pissed off, and smirked slightly to himself, noting thankfully that Jamie's inability to be let himself be ignored was something that wouldn't be changing anytime soon.

When it ended, his phone assuring him in a chipper mechanical voice that he had no news messages, he set it back down just as his next drink was set down, the woman giving him a slight once-over that he met with a hateful enough gaze that she stalked away, flipping her hair over her shoulder haughtily.

Bitch had no idea how lucky she was that he wasn't interested.

Whispers in his head growing louder, he took a long swig of his next drink, grateful when the taste of it washed away other tastes, easing the whispers in his mind, the touches that he felt beneath his skin drowned away as he swallowed down the rest of this offering to his inner demons, praying that this would keep them at bay for long enough to catch his breath and close his eyes and sleep one night in full without waking.

It didn't work, not this time and not any time and yet, here he was, sitting and waiting for his next try, watching with glassy eyes as the liquid sloshed around and finally reaching over, snatching the bottle from the woman and jerking his chin, not gifting her look of anger a worthy response as he banished her from his line of sight.

Jamie called again a half an hour later, and this time, fully dedicated to his plans tonight, Jonathon was too far gone to answer.

* * *

"I have to go."

With Miranda on his lap, playing with his plate, it was the only thing that kept JR from jumping up when he saw the look on Erin's face as she bent, grabbing her bag from under the table near his feet. "Erin—" She stood, still avoiding his concerned gaze as she snatched her jacket off the back of her chair and he grabbed her wrist, wrapping fingers securely around it as Miranda began studying the redhead with interest, one thumb sliding into her mouth.

"I need to go—"

"What's the matter?"

She just shook her head, looking desperate, and twisted her wrist out of his hold, spinning on her feet and fleeing as fast as she could without actually running. Staring after her, shifting Miranda awkwardly on his lap, JR shook his head in worry, watching as she vanished from his vision, leaving him to remind Miranda that her mother didn't want her sucking her thumb anymore.

Miranda, of course, ignored his half-hearted attempt at discipline, leaving Maggie to intercede and leaving JR to dwell on the damaged young woman that didn't want to leave his thoughts... not that he truly minded.


	22. Chapter 22

_**Stupid** _

And the hardest part  
Was letting go, not taking part  
You really broke my heart

And I tried to sing  
But I couldn't think of anything  
And that was the hardest part

Everything I know is wrong  
Everything I do, it's just comes undone  
And everything is torn apart

- Coldplay, 'The Hardest Part'

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Two

* * *

Quiet.

Or, at least, it was almost quiet.

Sitting at the table, watching her brother, Erin listened to the clink of glass against glass, hands in her lap and legs dangling off the chair. He sat hunched down, arms folded and head down, only dark eyes visible as he stared at the female figure moving around behind her, something she didn't recognize glimmering in his gaze.

A glass thunked down between the two of them, and Erin jumped, looking up at her mother, taking in eyes long gone glazed with the stuff from the bottle and a body worn down both mentally and physically, glassy eyes focusing on Jonathon. Her mother didn't notice her, making her relax slightly, letting out a small breath as her eyes slid longingly towards the stove, where she wasn't tall enough to cook yet and depended on Jonathon to make her something.

But he'd just been sitting there, and she hadn't eaten, and her stomach ached now, as if someone was tying knots in there.

"Want some, baby?"

She looked back at her mother, watching as her mother held the glass out at Jonathon, offering him it with something almost like a proud smile on her face, something that made the knots in Erin's stomach twist and she bit her lip, staying silent as she watched, eyes on her brother when he shook his head slightly, the barest of movements, and their mother let out an explosive noise, angry as she slammed it down in front of him. "Come on, Jonny, you gottta lighten up!"

Quiet.

"Jesus, you and the little princess here do nothing but mope around, what the hell is the matter with you two?" Snatching the glass back up angrily, and picking up the bottle from by the sink, she cast him one last disgruntled look with eyes narrowed and lips pursed before she strode shakily out of the kitchen and into the living room, where Erin heard her slam the alcohol down on the table, and then the sound of the television, flicking to something that sounded like a soap opera.

"Jonathon?" she finally whispered, again looking longingly at the stove, stomach knotting more horribly, making her swallow nervously, waiting for him to make her something and getting more nervous when he didn't respond. "Jon?" This time, he responded, but only barely and in a backward way, his head falling to his arms, hiding himself from her and refusing to acknowledge her, a huddled figure trying to blend into the table.

Erin didn't eat that day.

* * *

"Mom?"

It was a plaintive plea, filled with childlike desperation, and it brought a flood of memories to Erica's system, making her heart jump in her chest as she remembered how Bianca had felt when she was a little girl, wrapped up in her arms, growing so fast and so much that she had so quickly seemed to leave her mother dazed, staring after her, waiting for her to look back and ask for help.

Gripping the folder in white-knuckled hands, pictures and papers sticking out around the edges, Erica was afraid to look at her, but finally forced herself to do so, finding herself the complete focus of Bianca's enormous dark eyes, breath hitching in her throat as she stood there, finding herself being studied with a mix of confusion and helplessness.

"Bianca—"

"We have to go find Kendall," her daughter whispered, one hand settling on one her wrists, fingers feather-light on her skin, and her tone made Erica hold back a sudden giggle, feeling as if she was standing before her own mother again, somehow, being suddenly afraid that her mother wouldn't love her when she saw how selfish she was. "Mom, come on."

Erica didn't know how to be Mona.

* * *

When Rick—one of the patients in the group therapy that Jonathon participated in—came to her office, wanting to talk, Joanna knew it was important. However, as he kept stopping, going off on odd comments about her shoes or the way she sharpened her pencils, she grew increasingly agitated, knowing what—or at least, who—this had to be about.

Jonathon was a special case. He had killed people—three of them—and it was unknown how the tumor and his own mental instability balanced off, how the two had worked together to get him to the point he had eventually gotten to, stark raving mad in a closet in Nova Scotia, unable to tell the difference between people dead and alive, and between those who cared about him… and others who didn't.

Finally, just as she opened his mouth to coax him as gently as she could, he blurted it out, kneading his thighs in white-knuckled hands and refusing to meet her eyes, a sudden flush of dark coloring showing just how uncomfortable he was with this particular subject matter and with good reason, something that made her flicker in pride at his streak of bravery even as she felt anger rise up inside at the idiocy of her so-called peer.

Fifteen minutes later, with Rick in her office in case he was needed, she strode angrily through the halls of the Pine Valley hospital, finding to her growing ire that Joe Martin was nowhere to be found, which wasn't unusual in the past year; since his son had entered his current state, the man had begun to age rapidly, looking old and worn, and while she understood on some level, it pissed her off at the moment.

Pushing her way past a nervous looking Kimberly, making a mental note to apologize to her later on when her blood stopped pounding like this, she stormed into David Hayward's office, taking a moment to take in his shocked expression, both eyebrows raised as he paused in mid-word in his conversation, the two doctors staring at each other for long seconds.

"Give me just a second, Dr. Daniels," he finally told her before going back to his conversation, speaking into the phone. "No— it's someone at the hospital, we need to talk— no, and this is not me just trying to get off the phone— stop being such an ass, Montgomery—yes, Montgomery, I did just call you an ass— Look, I have to go, I'll call you later… yeah, yes… yes, give her my love."

With a semi-annoyed sigh, he set the phone down and leaned back in his seat, lacing his fingers atop his stomach and giving her his full attention. Jerking one of the chairs forward, dropping into it, Joanna snapped, "I want that ass fired, Hayward." One eyebrow lifted, lips twisted into a slight grin and he chuckled, "There are a lot of asses here, Jo, you might need to narrow it down for me."

"Nelson— I want him gone, now."

Now he stopped smiling, frowning slightly as he studied her with suddenly sharp eyes. "Nelson— you mean, Frank?"

"Yes, him—"

"Get your panties out of a twist, Jo, what did he do?"

"That's not your business—"

"I really think it is, if you want me to help you."

She stared at him for a moment, gazed at him intently before looking away, weighing her options. Finally, "Frank had some… choice things to say to one of my patients—" A short snort, proof that he, like most people, knew how much of her attention was focused on Jonathon "—and I'm afraid it might have had something to do with my patient's recent slip in his work with me."

"Something to do with—"

"You don't do my work, Hayward, so don't say it like that." Tiredly, she rubbed her neck, not wanting to voice other things and suddenly regretting her slip of control in her anger but, damn it, no one in a position of power was allowed to let something like their own personal feelings damage an already unstable person. "Frank's comments no doubt made a negative impact on my patient's progress."

"What kind of comments?"

* * *

"I need to know what happened, Zach."

"Edie, get out."

"I'll get out when I decide I want to," she snapped, snatching the papers he was using to try to keep from looking at her, flinging them down to the ground, an explosion of white sheets that fluttered to the floor. "You were bad before, after what happened at the Mardi Gras ball and then you got worse, after she came by."

There was no question of who 'she' was.

"Get out."

"What happened?"

He bent, crouched, started scooping up the sheets angrily, wishing she had asked anything but this. Finally straightening, he dropped the sheets to the desk, refusing to meet her eyes as he jerked out his chair and took a seat, flipping his way through the papers, feeling as if the walls were closing in on him suddenly.

A hand came down, snatched the papers and tossed them over her shoulder, Edie's cool gaze daring him to say anything, knowing that such a move was tantamount to waving a red flag in front of a bull. "Pick them up, and get out." Damn it, she thought, ignoring his order as she proceeded to dump a stack of files onto the floor.

"Tell me."

"Nothing."

"She ran out of here in tears and a day later she's suddenly Mrs. Lavery? Tell me what happened, damn it."

"Get out before I throw you out."

"The day you fire me is the day you finally cut your hair," she snapped, sending a container of pens and pencils to the floor, and then more papers, spending an extra second to throw them around completely, looking almost like dying doves as they came down. "I've kept my mouth shut long enough, damn it."

"I told you to—"

His voice had changed, becoming slightly strained and finally cracking, and he snapped his mouth shut, leaning back in the chair and staring at her with a mixture of anger and desperation and she shoved more off his desk, a stapler and a bowl of paper clips before looking back at him. "What happened?"

"I did what I had to do," he stated quietly, something close to a quiver in his voice and she swallowed, finally managing, "No offence, boss, but what you think is best isn't always for the best, not in the long run." She flicked a lonely paper clip off the desk, letting it join its fellows beneath her feet. "I mean, not all of your decisions have ended nicely."

"Edie—"

"No worries, I'm not bringing her up again but… Zach, are you going to sit and tell me that you're acting like this because you still believe you did the right thing?" she finally asked, kicking several pens out of her way with her shoe as she held his eyes forcefully, refusing to let him look away. "When you're completely sure of your choices, you aren't fazed at all and this," she finally sighed, gesturing around them with one hand, "is pretty damn far past just fazed."

* * *

Drained, slim body trembling and breath still hitching in her throat, she pushed her way nervously into Wildwind, closing the door quickly behind her and pausing, waiting for any sign that Julia was still awake. Finding none, thankfully, she took a few steps to the large antique mirror that was hung near the door, wincing when she saw her reflection and what she looked like.

Like a dead woman walking, almost, and she reached up with fingers numb from the cold rain to touch the heated skin around her eyes, swollen and red, before dropping them exhaustedly to her sides, letting out a long bitter breath, half-wishing she had kept the dark hair she had worn several years before, a far cry from her natural pale blonde, a color that made her look bleached and drab.

Maybe she should color it again?

Even before the thought was fully formed, she disregarded it with a slight shake of her head, dropping her bag to the table in front of her and shifting the way the dress clung to her, looking away from her reflection and walking deeper into the massive house, heading toward the large kitchen, pausing several steps away when she saw the light from beneath the door.

Damn.

Half-wanting to run upstairs before Julia caught her, her hunger won out and she rubbed her face furiously before she pushed her way into the kitchen, immediately finding herself the focus of Julia's dark eyes, the other woman pausing in her work, hands freezing as a sharp gaze took in Di's clear signs of emotional distress.

"Did you have sex with him again?"

Julia's usual fearless bluntness was too much and, swaying slightly, she let out a slightly deranged giggle, pressing one cool palm against her flushed face, as she staggered to the counter, pulling out a stool and sinking down, resting her face in her hands, staring down at the marble with eyes that had suddenly gone blurry again. "Di?"

She flicked fingertips across her face, disrupting the way tears were beginning to fall and finally looked up, smiling tiredly. "I am so selfish, Julia." As the other woman set down the knife she was using to slice something, Di ran fingers through damp hair, finally letting out an abrupt and bitter laugh. "You're not selfish."

"I'm not?"

Flicking strands of dark hair from her face that had escaped her slightly messy pony-tail, Julia shook her head, studying the blonde intently, finally responding, "You're not selfish, okay? I know selfish, I've lived with selfish, and you're not selfish," she added more firmly. "But—"

"It takes two to tango, Di."

"So it's not my fault I'm sleeping with a married man?"

"He's the married one, Di—not you."

She looked up, watching as Julia turned and took a plate down from the cabinet behind her, turning back and stacking something from the cutting board onto Di's plate, something that Di now saw was several cold chicken breasts, with chunks of cheese and vegetables nearby, sides to one of their favorite snacks to have in the middle of the night.

"Tell ya what," Julia suddenly said, now opening the fridge and looking for something, "Anita's busy tonight with an extra shift, and she won't be home, but you're here." She set a container of onion dip on the counter, and a massive bag of ruffled chips, brushing a few more strands of dark hair from her face. "And I rented 'The princess Bride' and, if I remember correctly, that's one your favorites, right?"

"Yeah…"

"So why don't you go take a nice shower and then we can stay all night long, bashing the male gender and bonding over Buttercup?"

Di, despite her best tries not to, found herself liking that idea.


	23. Chapter 23

_**Stupid**_

_Chapter Twenty-Three_

_It hurts to walk  
It hurts to talk  
It hurts to think about it  
Shout about it  
Could I be sure without a doubt  
That you could never live without_

_It's gonna be alright  
It's gonna be okay  
Just hold on tight  
let it all go away  
Mercy baby  
What do you want from me  
Mercy, mercy, mercy baby  
What do you want from me_

_It's gonna be alright  
Mercy darling  
Mercy  
Let it all go away_

_- Melissa Etheridge, 'Mercy'_

_

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Three_

_

* * *

Facing away from the celebratory balloons and gifts from the family, watching the way the lightening flashed violently outside, she pressed her hand against her stomach, fingers searching for anything that felt familiar and becoming more silently hysterical as she kept failing, finding only stretched skin._

_Failure, again, of course…_

_Finally bringing her hand away from the foreign feeling body, she fisted the pillow under her head, hands clenching fiercely for long moments before, exhaling harshly, she closed her eyes wearily, drained from her long hours of desperate attempts to feel something, anything, for the baby._

_They had made her breastfeed him._

_It felt like another blow to her, another thing they had twisted her into doing, made her hate herself for not doing until she gave in and took him, holding the squirming thing still, almost having to fight the little thing before he had finally attached himself to her breast, another unwelcome and frankly painful change to her body._

_She wasn't supposed to feel like this._

_The chair where Josh had perched, staring at her oddly as the rest of her family ran around the room now sat empty and she stared at it for several heartbeats before forcing her eyes to leave it, sliding back to the open window, biting the inside of her cheek. She had asked them to close it before they left, and they had walked out anyway, leaving her here to watch lightning rip the sky open._

_Ignored her, and left her at her memory's mercy._

_She jerked the covers more securely around her, smoothing trembling fingers across the scratchy fabric, closing her eyes tightly and holding her breath in, feeling suddenly ill at the mingling of baby powder and antiseptic that invaded her sense, scent and taste that she feared she'd never be able to get rid of._

_When she finally opened her eyes again, it was oddly dark and she rubbed her nose absently, wincing when an edge of her hospital bracelet scratched her cheek, grateful that the sky was now black, the faintest outline of moonlight peering through the broiling clouds in the distance._

_She looked at the chair again, remembering when someone else had sat at her bedside, and she rolled away completely, facing the other wall, a bare and empty area adorned only with a badly rendered painting of a deer. But there were no balloons, or cards or presents and she clutched at the bar wall greedily, fingers fisting into the pillow again, acutely aware of how odd her body felt right now._

_How wrong her body felt._

* * *

Josh didn't find the rain all that cold. 

Stepping into his car, swiping a hand across his face to wipe away the water, he glared out the window at the boarding house he couldn't actually see through the storm, highlighted only when the lightening suddenly lit up everything around them, making the usually homey place seem sinister.

Or, maybe, his imagination was just in overdrive at the moment.

He'd checked the penthouse, and then her old condo twice and now Myrtle's home and he bit the inside of his check as he stared sightlessly, mentally flicking his way through places where she might have gone to lick her wounds. He wished, absently, that he had a better idea of where she might go but, as it was, he'd have to make due for looking for a needle in a haystack.

Pulling out of the space, he sped off, flicking on his brights as he thought harder, biting his cheek harder as he considered calling Bianca but no, he couldn't handle her right now, even if she was right. Maybe— okay, fine, probably, he hadn't dealt with everything completely right, but who really expected him to keep his mouth shut?

He'd kept his mouth shut about his mother.

And he'd lost her anyway.

* * *

Colby Chandler liked to think that she was gifted in her evil planning. 

With Kate and Little Adam asleep, and Winifred playing a game of Poker with Lucretia, she had most of the mansion to herself.

With Pete firmly enlisted, and with not-so-innocent Kate in her corner, she felt almost as if she were entering a great boxing ring of life, bouncing on the balls of her feet, both hopeful that she would win her battle and fully expecting to come out of the ring with at least one black eye.

Still, it was always good to have a back-up plan.

She'd had no back-up plan that day in Canada, had realized with a sudden flash in her mind that her mother was busy and that, for the first time in years, she had a real chance to get home, not even thinking so much as following her instincts, heading home with as much speed as she could summon. It had worked out then, despite all the courtroom messiness, but she couldn't be sure that not having a back-up plan would always work for her, especially when dealing with her admittedly dim-witted-when-it-came-to-love brother.

It wasn't that JR was stupid, exactly, of course not— it was just that JR, with his bitter hurt and wounded heart, could never look at dating the same way anyone else in the world could. She had long since come to the decision that, even in his most happy and relaxed moments, he held his hopes back, knowing they would come crashing down eventually anyway.

Colby, personally, had nightmares of finding herself stuck with a male Babe one day.

"So, what are we doing?"

Passing him a notebook and a pen, she leaned back on the couch and set her feet up on the coffee table, chewing the end of her own pen absently as she studied the beginning of her list, a row of bulleted lines describing the first threads of Operation: Get Brother Laid. Personally, she wanted to come up with something a bit easier to remember, but this was the best she could do right now, at least at the moment.

"This sounds weird, Colby."

"Do I look like I care?" she muttered around the pen she was chewing, pausing to cross out several words and replace them quickly, going back to her restless gnawing. "Besides, we need blunt with these two," she added, adding in several words at the end of the third line of writing. "You know JR, he can talk for three hours and still manage to say nothing at all."

"Yes, but why are we doing this?"

"Because we need to make my brother happy."

"Yeah, and?"

She smacked him, getting an angry yell in response as she jotted down another idea and then looked over at him, unphased by the way he massaged his arm furiously and his look of pure death. "Do you have any Marvin Gaye?" he stared at her, mouth agape for one moment before managing a breathless shriek of, "What do you mean I'm gay?!"

Shooting him a sharp look, and silently promising him one of her lectures in the future, Colby set the notebook on her own lap, crossing her arms across her chest as she explained, in motherly tones, "Marvin Gaye, Pete… Marvin Gaye." Off his confused and slightly hunted look, "Skye listens to him all the time; last time she came by, we had to listen to 'Sexual Healing' for three hours while we did the big family bonding."

"That's…" He trailed off, suddenly remembering the song from the last time he had walked in on his parents. "Oh, my God."

"What?"

"Do we have any brain bleach?"

"No, I used it up the last time Babe came by."

"Babe came by?" he asked, grateful for anything to get his mind off the hideous thoughts flowing through his mind. Plus, being able to inform his mother of the no-good, brain-washing, baby-stealing, family-wrecking skank—and those were Opal's oft-repeated words—movements was always a good thing. "What happened?" he added, catching the dirty look she slashed over at him.

"She came by, with my mother, to give dad a stern talking-to," she explained, her voice dripping with irritation. "She was wearing this fugly-ass green shirt, by the way, and her boobs almost fell out of that thing five times while she was lecturing dad on the values of sharing a child between two parents. Even my mother was just kind of gaping at her sheer level as jack-assiness."

"One of these days, somebody's just going to snap and shoot her."

"That's what I'm thinking," she chirped dryly.

"You look happier."

"I'm thinking about her in a coma instead of Tad."

"Oh." A pause, him watching as she circled something that looked like 'Get it On' and he frowned, watching he drum fingers against the scribbled paper, head cocked and eyes narrowed. "I'd vastly prefer that to Tad in a coma." She nodded, and they both went silent, not completely at ease with talking about the comatose man, who happened to be his half-brother. "Do we have anything to eat?"

"Wini's got another Poker game going."

"Damn… wait, why don't we just lock them in a warehouse or something?"

"The last time JR got locked in a warehouse, Jamie nearly strangled him and Babe played the martyr."

"So that's a no."

"Yeah."

"This isn't going to be simple, is it?"

"Who wants simple anyway?"

Pete sighed, and tried to make his brain work.

* * *

Anita Santos could be surprisingly bitchy when she was going on fumes. 

Licking his wounded pride silently, scratching his scalp, he watched as the dark haired woman finally left him alone to change and head home, his ears still ringing from her blistering lecture. Anita never lectured Maggie, neither did Julia or his grandfather but they sure did go after him, didn't they?

Was he really that unlikable?

Changing clothes quickly, nearly bashing his head in with the locker door while doing it, he finally crammed his shoes on, growling as he slung his bag up and scratched his head again, staring apprehensively at the door where the nurse had disappeared. What if she was out there, waiting for him to come out so she could start her next ranting lecture?

"Here's hoping she didn't call in Grandpa," he muttered as he finally forced himself to leave the locker room, knowing absently that the chances of his grandfather showing up were slim to none. When he wasn't working so hard his fingers bled, Joe Martin was at his home, steadfastly ignoring his comatose son and the fact that Tad's chances of waking up were rapidly dwindling.

Jamie couldn't really blame him, though.

Usually, he'd be heading to say goodnight to his father before heading home but not tonight, with everything going on. And, if he was honest with himself, it was starting to hurt too much to walk in on Dixie staring out the window chewing her nails like a lost child or, even more disturbing, just sitting and staring at Tad, apparently waiting for him to jump up and walk out of the hospital fine and dandy.

He wondered if he didn't care enough that his father would, in all likelihood, never wake up.

Snatching a packet of peanuts and a soda from the first waiting room he passed, Jamie finally headed out of the hospital with as much speed as he could gather, munching as he went and steadfastly ignoring the silent call to head to the almost-quiet room where his father was lying.

About five feet from the doors, he stopped, realizing that the buzzing sound wasn't just his mind playing tricks on him and, looking around, he set his food on the counter, grimacing at the dark look he got from a young nurse, and began digging in his bag for his cell phone, which was going off with the particular ring tone he had long since assigned to his roommate.

A quick check at the ID proved him right, "Jon" flashing across the bright blue screen and, wincing, he answered with a mumbled greeting around his last mouthful of peanuts. "Is this Jamie Martin?" He nodded, realized the woman couldn't see him nodding and managed, "Yeah, who's this?"

"Karen Lewis, from Harley's, the bar over on 57th street?"

"Oh." He shifted his bag a few more times, looking out the large glass doors at where he could see the rain falling and grimaced slightly, waiting until she started speaking again. "Look, buddy, I've got a guy over here, and he's totally smashed." Well, that destroyed any hope that a call from Jonathon's cell phone might have nothing to do with Jonathon.

"How did you get his phone from him?" he asked worriedly, and she snorted over the connection, an amused and annoyed sound. "He's smashed, and when he was looking away, I took it from him. You were the second number on his phone; you've got some connection to him, right?"

He wondered, absently, why his number placement on Jonathon's cell phone made him feel so damn proud of himself.

Without a doubt, Erin would have been the first number but as far as Jamie knew, she was busy with JR and the group at the Lavery's re-vowing celebration… ceremony… thing. Which meant that Erin was no doubt busy, and he had been called… called to handle an apparently smashed recovering psychotic who seemed to be slipping up in the mental coping skills.

As Jamie got into the car, he pondered all the ways that it could go wrong.


	24. Chapter 24

_**Stupid**_

_Maybe surrounded by  
A million people I  
Still feel all alone  
I just wanna go home  
Babe I miss you, you know_

_And I've been keeping all the letters that I wrote to you  
Each one a line or two  
"I'm fine baby, how are you?"  
Well I would send them but I know that it's just not enough  
My words were cold and flat  
And you deserve more than that_

_Let me go home  
'Cause I'm just too far from where you are  
I wanna come home_

_- Michael Buble, 'Home'__

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Four_

* * *

"_He wouldn't want you to worry too much."_

_Kendall's gaze jerked away from the blood-spattered fabric of her dress, raised to meet Edie's dark eyes. The other woman looked out of her element, not in her usual skirt suit but a pair of jeans and a tank top, a sight that made Kendall blink owlishly for several moments, dazed by the image of the always-formal Edie in casual._

_When she held out a take-out cup of coffee, Kendall shook her head until Edie sighed that it was decaf, at which point Kendall took it only to stare at it dumbly, worn down from the anger she had recently unleashed on Ryan. "I take one day off and he gets himself stabbed by Erica Kane," the black woman muttered, rolling her head on her neck tiredly._

_Well, that explained the casual wear, which only confused Kendall further._

_Edie was always at the casino, always, and if she wasn't such a calm presence, Kendall might have wondered if the other woman was somehow obsessed with him or something. As it was, despite the crack, the woman standing in front of her looked how she felt, far less than the cool-voiced woman that Zach depended on so much._

_She looked frightened, and angry, and Kendall found herself clinging to the battered-looking woman now, swallowing down panic._

"_Oh."_

_She looked up, found Edie staring and followed that gaze down to her dress, panic bubbling up again at the lurid red against the pale fabric, and forced herself to look back up at Edie. "We need to get you out of those clothes." Kendall shook her head, gesturing vaguely at the room where Zach was lying drugged-up and unconscious with one trembling hand. "No, Ms. Hart, we don't need you walking around in a bloody dress, okay?"_

_Kendall just stared at her and, an odd look crossing her face, Edie took the bag from Kendall's other hand, opening it and drawing out Kendall's car keys, jingling them before dryly announcing, "The last thing Zach needs when he wakes up is you standing over him in a bloody white dress, telling him to come back… don't you think that's a little too Hollywood for him?"_

_It jerked a bubbling of laughter out of Kendall and she closed her mouth hastily, unnerved by the slightly insane tinge to it._

"_Come on," the woman prodded, nodding back to where the exit was, "We'll take you home and clean you up and get you something to eat… if you don't look clean and at least semi-fed when he wakes up, he'll walk around the hospital until he's sure you're full and comfortable, you know how he is."_

_Yes, she decided as she trudged after the woman to her car, Edie knew him very well._

* * *

Edie liked to think she knew Zach very well.

Watching him play with the papers on his desk, she banished thoughts of what he must have been like as a boy from her mind, a difficult thing to do while watching this broken boy in a shattered man's body try to keep himself from spilling his secrets to her. "Zach." Her voice was strong and hard, and when he looked up, she grimaced, seeing a mix of raw emotions that set her teeth on edge. "Zach."

"I did what I had to do."

"And what was that?"

"I put her and her son first."

It took a moment for her to understand his words completely, not fully grasping them into she saw something flutter at the back of his gaze, feeling her heart stutter in her chest as one or two of the jumbled puzzle pieces fit together, albeit slowly. "Zach, what did you tell her?" He said nothing, looking away from her again and she moved closer, pulling the chair with her to sit in front of the massive desk, trying to get his gaze back. "Zach, what did you say?"

"I did what was best for her and her son."

"According to who, Zach?"

He didn't answer her, and she wasn't surprised. She grabbed his hands, hands that were still unhappily fiddling with the last objects on his desk, and slammed them down to the wood, holding them down, holding him down. "I am the first to call you on your shit when you make mistakes, Zach, and I always have been."

"You don't understand."

"Is this about Ramsey?" she snapped bluntly, too tired of this all to give a damn about the dead man, tightening her fingers around his hands almost convulsively. "Zach, he didn't want a father, he wanted a fortune, he wanted—" He jerked his hands out of her hold hard enough to nearly rip her arms off her body, leaning back in his chair and leveling a look at her that almost reminded her of what he was like before. Almost, but not quiet, and as far as Edie was concerned, almost didn't count, not with the sudden something in his eyes.

"Zach—"

"Don't talk about him like that."

"I'm allowed to have an opinion, Zach, and that's mine." His emotions were almost too tangled for almost her to follow and she understood suddenly how anyone who knew him less than her—everyone else, in other words—would be unable to handle him like this, would give up because right now, it was like dealing with panicked child. "His last words were that he hated you, and that he'd never forgive you, Zach—"

"Actions speak louder than words—"

He stopped, very suddenly, and she looked at him more closely, frowning at… something. He looked shaken and cornered, and she straightened further, wondering if he had just tripped himself up. "What do you mean by that?" No answer, but his hands were flexing, and he was breathing oddly, and she narrowed her eyes. "Zach?"

"It doesn't matter."

"I'd have to say that it looks like it might just matter."

"He was a good man, Edie."

"Who, exactly, are you trying to convince?"

"He—" More silence, pained and panicked, and she licked her lips, fingers twitching to hold his hands again. "I told him about my mother, Edie." This time it was her turn to go still, freezing as she worked the words together with that look in his eyes and the strain of emotion in his voice. "I told him, and—"

"What— I mean, why?"

"He asked."

"Zach—" Now she felt dangerously close to something, and she hesitated for a moment, working up her courage as she drew up the right way to probe this. "Zach, I don't see him as the kind of man who would care about his family ties," she finally managed quietly, and he closed his eyes, gnawing at his bottom lip hard enough that she almost wanted to smack him to stop.

"He came and he asked about my mother, about what happened to— about how she died." His eyes opened but he didn't look at her, staring down at his desk again, as if the smooth wood held the answers he was searching for so desperately. "I told him everything, Edie… I told him everything."

"Zach—"

"You know that cancer wing I sent you to last year, to help Bianca open?" She nodded, confused but trying and he finally looked up, eyes stripped clear and revealing nothing so much as a man unable to hold it in anymore. "It wasn't originally named after Mona Kane, Edie… Ethan— Ethan named it something else when he first came up with it, before he passed away."

"He didn't—"

"I told him what my father did to her, how my father let her die… and he named it after Alexander Cambias." Defeat in his eyes now as he gazed at her and she processed that final hurt, that blow to his oldest hurt. She drew in a final breath, a hitching sound as she felt anger simmer beneath her surface, trying to clamp down on it and failing miserably. "Oh, my God, Zach…"

"That's how much my mother's death meant to her grandson." His laugh was strangled and bitter, harsh with anger and other emotions and she swallowed, finding her hands fiddling now, helplessly. "I told him everything, and that's what he did with it, Edie. That's how much he hated me, and how much he respected my mother."

"You changed it, though—"

"Yeah." He sounded like he was about to cry, and she hated it, hated seeing a man like him break. "Yeah, I managed to get Bianca to pull a few strings, get the name changed quickly… but…" He shook his head, words failing and she swallowed again, throat aching, not because Helen Cambias had meant anything to her but because she knew what Helen had meant to him.

Edie wondered, dully, how damaged his memory of her was now.

"I'm so sorry." The words sounded bare and useless but she managed to force them out, reaching out to pull his hands closer, clasping them with hers hard enough to bruise them and not caring. "I didn't know… if I had known—" She stopped, and he made a short noise of bitterness. "Yeah… you'd have spit on his grave."

* * *

Erin hated attention.

Every time she'd gotten attention in her childhood, it had brought some kind of suffering, whether it be her mother's cutting comments or her father's love as Jonathon sat in the background, bruised and broken and still refusing to leave because he knew Ryan was going to come back them and they just needed to wait.

They had waited, and no one had come.

She hated that the most, people who didn't understand why they hadn't just left because, after all, they had legs and why would any person sit and take that? They didn't understand; they didn't understand waiting to be saved, and they didn't know what it felt like to be fully-grown and still waiting to be saved… or even noticed.

Yet, she hated being noticed.

Nosy little bitch, that was what Gail had called her, flinging an empty bottle at the girl as the small figure ran out of the bedroom, stepping on a piece of shattered glass and leaving a trail of bloody footprints as she ended up hiding under the sink, the silence broken only by her quick breathing and her panicked heartbeat in her ears.

She'd gotten a few curious looks from the nurses when she had taken a seat, a pale wraith soaked through to the bone and apparently waiting. Anita had finally been the one who offered her help, asking her if she needed to talk to anyone and she had shaken her head, the look in her eyes enough to make the pretty nurse get her a cup of coffee and then leave her alone.

Which was where Joanna had found her, an hour later, still steamed and waiting for Frank to get his when he came back to work the next day. She slowed as she identified the figure, a frown marring her already angry face as she finally stopped, considering the sight of Erin Lavery sitting in front of her office like this, a wretched and broke shape of plastered red hair and pale skin and large teary eyes.

"How long has she been here?" she asked Anita quietly, spotting the nurse some feet away and edging over as carefully as she could. "About an hour or so, can't be sure… she's just been sitting there, staring around. I think she was waiting for you." Joanna had to agree, and waited for the nurse to finally depart, having spent the last hour doing paperwork while keeping watch.

Erin climbed to her feet when Jo got closer, focusing a hunted kind of look on the doctor, making Jo's teeth hurt in how much she resembled Jonathon when she got that look in her eyes. "Anything you need, Erin?" The young woman followed her in, taking a seat as Jo closed the door quietly, turning back to find Erin staring silently at the papers littering the desk.

Shit.

She'd fetched Rick to talk to Hayward and headed back, knowing full well that the doctor would get any needed information now that he knew the whole story. But she'd left the office the first time in a rush, and now… "Why are you writing these things?" the redhead demanded, shaking an open file at the doctor, voice becoming high-pitched and strained, "these are lies! Why are you writing these things?"

"Why are you getting so upset about them?"

It said more than it didn't that Erin had come here when in this kind of emotional place, something to pick up with the eyes filling even now with furious tears and the slight quiver of her bottom lip, enough to make her look young and childlike, something Jo had seen for years and never gotten used to. "These are lies! You're spreading lies!"

"I'm not spreading anything, Erin… those are my notes—"

"This is sick!" The folder bounced off Jo's chest, the papers fluttering around and to the floor as Erin began pacing in front of the desk, not crying yet completely but breath beginning to hitch, making Jo wonder exactly what had happened to get this kind of reaction even before the woman had read her notes.

Whatever it was, it was enough to set this off.

She bent, quickly gathering up her notes, and stood to find Erin Lavery attempting to stare her down. "Those are lies, get rid of them," she snapped, and Jo shook her head, holding her work carefully, taking in the way that Erin was staring at them, the mixture of emotions that somebody else had set off and she was now dealing with.

"Your brother—" She paused considering, taking in the way Erin flinched suddenly and trying again more softly, "I think Jonathon was molested, Erin, I think Gail molested him," she added even more softly, half-ready to lean forward and catch Erin, so startled was she by the sudden way the already pale woman went white to the lips. "Erin—"

"I have to go."

"No, you came here to talk to me," she snapped instantly, stepping back and standing as a barrier between the woman and then door, a wall to get through because she wasn't going to just climb over. "Did something happen… did somebody say something? Erin, you sat outside my office for over an hour, something must have happened."

No answer, just a hunted look from a shaking young woman.

This wasn't her usual way to get to the heart of the matter but then, Jonathon wasn't the usual patient. There was no such thing as a "usual" victim of abuse, since every person she had met and worked with dealt with the trauma differently but still, Jonathon was a special case and she needed to take the chance she had now.

He'd already had recorded breakdowns, breakdowns that were brushed under the rug when his doctors lost interest in him… looking at his records, at what other people hadn't given a damn about, she wondered how any person could have thought that he'd just get over everything. As far as Joanna was concerned, the murders he had committed rested as solidly on those people—she refused to call them doctors—as it rested on his shoulders…

They had failed him before he gotten to that point and continued to fail him when they ignored both his childhood abuse and his own abusive actions after the operation, letting him walk around for months before Bianca Montgomery had come back to town and put her foot down, and called each of the so-called professionals on their shit.

She sure as hell wasn't going to fail him now.

"It's a word, Erin… not using that word doesn't mean that it didn't happen."

She moved forward cautiously, held up the papers, reading the words that she'd already memorized over the last week or so, her thoughts put down to paper with ink. "Patrick Lavery abused his kids, all four of them—don't look at me like, don't shake your head, you were abused, even if he never touched you. It's emotional, Erin, watching people you love suffer." She dropped the folder into the chair opposite her desk, close to the redhead but not yet invading her personal space.

"This is all Ryan's fault."

It felt like an odd jump between topics but no, she was still upset, tears rolling openly down her cheeks, lip quivering and voice straining with unshed emotion. "What's Ryan's fault?" Red tresses fluttered around her face as she shook her head. "He lies and he lies and he lies and he lies and then he tells me not say anything."

"Say anything about what?"

"I saw them."

"Saw who?"

"Him and his… and Di… they were…" Her breath kept catching and if she wasn't so intent on hearing it all through before Erin simple stopped talking, Joanna would have sat the younger woman down and brought her something hot to drink. "I was going to just walk away, you know? Walk away and not say anything because it's not my business and he stops me and he makes me promise not to tell anyone."

Joanna wondered if Ryan Lavery could ever imagine what a handful of words translated to her right now.

* * *

"Ryan!"

He spun, phone held against his ear to see Erica, staring at him oddly, holding her clutch with white-knuckled hands. "We need to talk." He stared at her dumbly for a moment before shaking himself, closing the phone and dropping his hand to the side, baffled by the look she was giving him. "Erica?"

"We need to talk."

* * *

Jonathon indeed looked smashed.

Staring at him as he considered ways to get the other man into his car and back to the apartment, Jamie decided that he didn't like how he looked now, head hidden in his arms and silent, refusing to acknowledge Jamie in any way no matter how hard he shook him or talked to him.

He was awake though, which was something.

Accepting the phone from Karen, and then Jonathon's keys, he watched her head away, looking down at the counter to study the remains of Jonathon's night out, lifting his eyebrows as he realized just how much alcohol the youngest Lavery brother now had in his system. "We got to get you home, Jon."

Shoulders hunched, and a head shook in crossed arms, still refusing to lift from the table and Jamie grimaced again. Neither of them were small men, both broad in the shoulders and tall enough to dwarf a good amount of people and it was a intimidating fact now that Jonathon drinking was rarely a good thing.

He hadn't gone off in a long time, almost a year, but still… he'd been acting tense enough in the past several weeks to worry Jamie more than he was already worried. Jonathon wasn't a weak man, and he wasn't a stable man, and any idiot who thought that Jonathon Lavery was no longer capable of anything dangerous was downright stupid to around him.

How was he going to get him home?

His call to Erin had been a failure; wherever she was, she had turned her phone off to keep her privacy and she was the one person that Jamie had come to see could keep him with his feet on the ground even drunk and raging. Personally, Jamie didn't understand it… but then he also didn't understand the friendship JR had with Kendall… or why his mother was remarrying Adam Chandler.

"Jon, we got to get some coffee in you."

"I don't want it." It was a quiet mumble against two muscled forearms, but somehow still clear and Jamie shifted slightly, uneasy for some reason he didn't understand about the tone of Jon's voice, a sharp edge of something dangerous there despite the alcohol so clear in the same words. "Jon—"

The shoulder he cautiously tried to prod jerked violently enough away that Jamie took a slight step back, gathering his thoughts as he stared at the hunched figure seemingly trying to mold himself into the bar itself. Jonathon was mumbling something, words muffled as Jamie finally gathered enough courage to approach again, edging, "Erin's busy, Jon… she wanted me to take you back to the apartment."

Sudden silence.

The eyes that studied him when Jonathon finally looked up were dark, nearly black with something that, quite frankly, freaked him the hell out. It wasn't hate, wasn't even close to hate; living with someone like Jonathon Lavery made one a bit more sensitive to the moods of someone and he'd learned early on that Jonathon had a lot of anger, a lot of stuff he held in even when he was supposed to talk it out.

This was something different, though.

He felt ill suddenly, and couldn't get the reasoning behind it as he helped a shaky, muttering Jonathon off the bar stool and into his leather jacket, nausea teasing at the edges of his consciousness as he pushed and prodded the incoherent man to the exit and then out into the drizzle, which seemed to shock Jonathon into a dark silence, folding himself into the passenger seat of the car.

And Jamie tried to remember Jo's number.


	25. Chapter 25

_And even though the moment passed me by  
I still can't turn away  
'Cause all the dreams you never thought you'd lose  
Got tossed along the way  
And letters that you never meant to send  
Get lost or thrown away_

_And scars are souvenirs you never lose  
The past is never far  
Did you lose yourself somewhere out there  
Did you get to be a star  
And don't it make you sad to know that life  
Is more than who we are_

_- Goo Goo Dolls, 'Name'_

_

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Five_

* * *

"_Maybe you should go home."_

_She didn't look up from her desk and the uneaten take-out, regretting her decision to post the picture on her computer screen and now unable to take it down, six months seeming like both a heartbeat and an eternity. "I'm not tired," she finally managed calmly and then sighed inwardly when he pulled a chair closer, taking a seat opposite her to stare more intently. "Edie—"_

"_Stop trying to fix this."_

"_I'm not trying to fix anything—I don't think there's any kind of fix for this." He was right, of course, and yet there he was, always trying to take control of the situation, hazel eyes looking closer than ever before and easily seeing what she was so easily hiding from her always-perceptive Tracy. "There are doctors who deal with this kind of grief."_

"_I don't want a doctor."_

_She stood, taking a moment to keep herself on her feet before leaving the desk, letting herself fiddle with the files stacked and carefully organized behind her as she caught her breath again and calmed her suddenly deafening heartbeat. "I don't need a doctor," she added as she played with a paper clip she had unknowingly left on the shelf. "I'm doing just fine."_

"_Physically."_

_She looked back at him, teeth hurting from how hard she was clenching her jaw. "This isn't any of your business, Zach." It was hard to get the words out, with how strongly she knew otherwise. "When you made me her godmother; that meant that I was supposed to take care of you, too."_

"_Well, she's dead, so you're released from your duties."_

-

"What about my cousin?"

Studying the chart intently, it took a moment for Brooke to understand what Amanda was talking about. "Hayley?" Amanda nodded, and she nodded back, popping the blue push-pin into table number three, setting her hands on her hips to survey their work so far. "Her plane will be coming in a day before, and she'll be spending the night in one of the guest rooms."

"Just her?"

"Her and the boys, yeah," she sighed, moving back to her desk to cross Hayley's name off her list. "She said Mateo isn't coming, so that makes things a bit easier… and the night before will probably be all about her." Off Amanda's curious look, "She says she has an announcement for us to hear, so we're all very afraid."

"Hmm…" was all Amanda could say.

"And Skye will be…" Thoughtfully, checking the redhead's position on the special graph, she finally crossed the name off the list, tapping the pen against the notebook as she flicked her eyes across the placement chart. "She'll be sitting with JR and Hayley," she finally chirped, and Amanda snickered slightly, getting a curious glance from Brooke.

"It's just… that'll be the alcoholic table…"

She was nervous, but then she had a right to be. The last time she had seen her cousin had been at her father's funeral more than a year before, and that hadn't exactly been the best of times for her or anyone else in the family. "JR's already been voted to be the one to do the main speech." Brooke paused, fiddling with her ring for a moment, before adding dryly, "Am I supposed to be this intimidated by my soon-to-be step-children?"

"I wouldn't know."

"No, of course not, but—"

"Brooke?" The voice was muffled but strong, and the woman in question opened the door, letting in a young woman carrying a file, a strangely massive grin on her face. "I just found something for your expose… and it's a big something," she added more proudly, ignoring Amanda as she reverently passed the file to Brooke.

-

"Are you going to answer that?"

Ryan shook his head at Erica's question, shutting off his buzzing phone to give her his full attention. She had half-dragged him off to an empty room, locking them both in as his cell had started going off, repeatedly, whoever it was not getting that he wasn't available at the moment. "Okay," he sighed as he turned it off and put it away, "What do you need?"

"Ryan—" She paused, eying him in a way that he didn't recognize and found himself baffled at. "Ryan, is this true?" He shook his head slightly, confused, and she added more raggedly, "Are you having a—an affair with that Henry woman?" the words sank in with careful slowness, settling into his mind and leaving him scrambling at first, trying to figure out a way to—

"That's really none of your business, Erica."

He wasn't even sure where the words came from, was as quietly stunned by the sharp anger there as she was, to judge by the way she straightened to her full but still tiny height and narrowed her eyes, taking a step towards him and only making him more pissed-off, exhausted by her constantly pulling the strings and seemingly always surprised by the fact that people didn't enjoy it.

"How dare you—"

"I don't have time for this," he snapped irritably, giving into his anger and striding past her, getting his hand on the knob before she grabbed his other arm and yanked back, showing surprising and shocking strength as she took her place back in front of him, and he recognized her, that look on her face.

He had seen that look on her face enough times since coming to Pine Valley to grow tired of it himself, even if he rarely found himself pinned by it. Once, it had angered him, watching Kendall flinch back from that look, but not anymore… that look and that tone had driven Jack off, and it was driving Bianca off and he had long grown sick of it.

"Erica, get out of my way—"

"You're having an affair with that woman!" she half-shrieked, gesturing wildly with one jeweled hand, and he had a brief echo of what he had once felt when she went off on Kendall like this, when he had still been in love with her. It made him grit his teeth and close his eyes for a moment, irritated that Di would be far more outwardly sensitive to such attacks than Kendall could ever be.

He slid his hands down the lapels of his jacket, pondering and considering and finally giving in to his anger as he cut her off in mid-tirade, snapping rather disgustedly, "You're a hell of a person to be berating me on the holiness of marriage, really." Jerking his chin at the ring she still wore on one finger, he added more cruelly, "Does Jack ever call, or does he even remember you?"

"You son of a—" Erica let out a long breath, a whistling noise of white fury as she clenched one tiny fist, seeming both stunned and enraged by his sudden force. "How dare you! That piece of trash isn't worth a minute of your time, Ryan!" she shrieked, not even trying to remain quiet now, as offended as she now was. "I have done so much for you, Ryan! So much for you and for Kendall so that you can have your life together! How dare you! If you knew—"

"Don't worry, Erica… I know _exactly_ how far you went for your daughter."

She stopped, rocking strangely as she processed the look on his face and the tone in his voice, sharp and cutting and hateful and she closed her mouth slowly, eyes growing so wide it would have been comical at any other time. "What are—" More silence, and she swallowed, taking the smallest step back as she held her clutch to her middle. "Ryan—"

"What's a little DNA… right?"

-

"Need anything?"

Joanna didn't answer for a moment, carefully replacing the phone on the cradle as she considered the tightrope she was walking, and the worn-woman sitting in her office, hollow-eyed. Finally, mentally bracing herself, she turned to Anita, noting that the other woman was changed. "You heading home?"

A light shrug, tossing long dark hair over a shoulder and Jo gnawed her bottom lip for a moment, glancing slightly at her shut door. "Do you know the way to the Chandler mansion?" Off Anita's baffled look, "Please, just tell me." She liked the younger woman, although she thought at times that she was a bit too soft with the newbie members of the hospital staff.

"Yeah, everybody knows the way to the mansion."

She spent a few more moments considering before nodding tiredly, exhaling softly. "She says she wants to be dropped off over there, that she's got a guest room." Noticing Anita's curious look, she shook her head, "Please, I don't have time for any questions right now… can you do it for me?"

"Yeah… sure, I guess."

"Good." She picked the phone up again, dialing Ryan Lavery's phone number as she watched Anita make a beeline for her office, where Erin was probably still sitting dazedly. She frowned, becoming angry as she realized the phone had been turned off. She had lost count of how many times she had been unable to reach Ryan Lavery, and yet there she was, thinking he might pick up his phone when his brother's main doctor started calling him.

"Fine," she snapped as she finally slammed it down, watching as the brunette and redhead disappeared into the elevator, "let's try Jonathon, huh?"

-

"Do you know where Kendall went?"

Trying to keep Miranda from disappearing into one of the elevators, JR held onto the little girl's hand with one strong palm, turning to see Bianca rushing towards him, eyes wide and carrying a dazed-looking Chris on one hip. Even as he was forced to scoop Miranda up into her arms, he shook his head, the look on her face answering that things weren't going well.

When had anything in Pine Valley ever gone well?

As Miranda bounced in his arms and babbled something about wanting to see snow—why she was so obsessed with snow all year around, JR had yet to fully comprehend—he gestured back to where the family was now milling around, half of them missing and the other half about to fall asleep, bored out of their minds. "What are you doing with Miranda?"

He ignored the tone she took in the question, banishing it quickly and unwilling to let himself get his feathers ruffled by somebody as worried about Kendall as he was. This was not a time for old wounds to reopen and he shifted Miranda again, hissing when her small foot just barely missed a vital part of his anatomy. "I'm keeping her from disappearing into the Hotel of Misplaced Toys," he muttered, adding with more emotion, "Did you see Erin run through here?"

"What?"

"Erin… she ran out of here and she refuses to answer her phone… Miranda, don't kick me there!" he half-yelled, and she pressed a wet kiss to his temple, running one small palm reassuringly over his cheek even as she continued to bounce, her childishly adorable apology almost enough to make him hand her the keys to his car and wish her a nice night to do whatever she wanted.

But no… he wasn't supposed to spoil her, right?

She wasn't Bess… she wasn't his, even if his heart was telling him that she was—

He struggled to keep a hold on those thoughts, hating that they never left him, no matter how much time passed. But she had been his, and his heart refused to pay attention to words like 'biological' when it came to her and what she felt like in his arms as she wrestled to get out into the rain… "Why is it still raining?"

Passing him Chris roughly enough to make him cast her an angry look, Bianca half-ripped Miranda out of his hold, her voice once again taking that tone when she asked, "Where's Maggie?" Rocking absently, unaware of it in fact, he smoothed a hand down dark hair, slightly worried about that look that Chris was casting about. "Your girlfriend is doing something… she had to answer a call or something, I'm not sure but Miranda took her chance and bolted when we weren't looking."

"Does Maggie know you have Miranda?"

At the back of his awareness, irritation flickered and he tried to smother it, reminding himself that they were both feeling emotional right now. Clearing his throat, half-trying to shut himself up before the words came out, he hissed back, "And does your girlfriend know that you spent last Saturday with Babe?"

Bianca looked as if she had been slapped—and behind her, Maggie looked more than a little bit pissed off.

JR felt guilty that he didn't feel guilty.


	26. Chapter 26

_Something has been taken from deep inside of me  
The secret I've kept locked away no one can ever see  
Wounds so deep they never show they never go away  
Like moving pictures in my head for years and years they've played_

_Just washing it aside  
All of the helplessness inside  
Pretending I don't feel misplaced  
It's so much simpler than change_

_It's easier to run  
Replacing this pain with something numb  
It's so much easier to go  
Than face all this pain here all alone_

_- Linkin Park, 'Easer To Run'_

_

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Six__

* * *

Di looked as ragged as he felt._

_Somehow, between Tad staying at the wreckage to help dig out others, and with Kendall at the hospital with Reggie, Ryan had found himself dropping a rather awful-looking Di Henry back to Wildwind, mostly at Julia's behest, since she would be staying at the hospital for the next little while to help how she could._

"_You sure you're gonna be okay alone?"_

_The blonde let out a rather high-pitched and shaky laugh, reaching up to brush dusty blonde hair from her face and only succeeding in making herself hiss in pain when her fingers ground against the gash on her forehead. "I'm fine," she assured him in an almost laugh, shrugging as they both slipped shakily into the main room. "What about you?"_

"_I did what I set out to do."_

"_What if she forgives him?"_

"_I highly doubt that," he muttered, watching as she drifted around the large room, looking a bit like a lost child. "He made her lose Greenlee, Di, she'll never forgive that." She finally stilled, staring at the fireplace and gnawing a bleeding lip, fingers playing in front of her and eyes wide. "But she loves him."_

"_What he did was unforgivable."_

"_There aren't many unforgivable things," she whispered, and it was soft and it was quiet, and he shifted a few times uneasily, not liking the glimpse she was offering of herself. "I mean," she added, glancing over at him and offering a brittle smile, "there are unforgivable things, like pretending you're your sister and all but… but I don't think there are many things like that."_

"_This is one of them."_

"_Are you sure, though?"_

"_Kendall doesn't forgive easily."_

"_Yeah, but—but does she love easily?"_

_He offered no answer, and she went quiet again, staring down at the fireplace and fiddling with the front of her dress, and he wanted to leave, suddenly feeling worried. Slater had paid for what he had done, for interfering where he had no right to, and Kendall wouldn't forgive him, would never forgive him for taking Greenlee from her._

"_You have to leave."_

"_What?"_

"_You… you need to leave, I'm expecting company."_

"_Who?"_

"_That's none of your business but—but you have to leave, okay?"_

_He obeyed, nodding a few more times before turning and leaving the big place hastily, Gillian's sudden appearance in his thoughts propelled by memories here and causing him to hesitate before moving faster, climbing into his car and starting the ignition, pulling out and away and heading back towards the hospital._

_Away from expressive eyes and naked whispers of guilt._

-

Jonathon was heavy when he was drunk.

Letting the other man lean exhaustedly against the wall as he unlocked the door to the apartment, Jamie finally managed to get it open and slipped in to flick on the lights and check that there was nothing for them to trip over. However, upon getting back into the hallway, he found that Jonathon had slid down the wall and was sprawled across the floor like a badly posed doll.

"Jon."

He didn't get any answer, not that Jamie was surprised.

Crouching, he hooked his fingers in the belt and dragged him upwards, slinging one heavy arm around his shoulder as he struggled to adjust to the extra weight, finally taking a staggering a step back. "Jesus, you don't look this heavy." An explosion of rather-nasty smelling air at the side of his neck matched Jonathon's nasty snicker and he rolled his eyes, wrestling them both through the doorway.

"Don't fall on me, giggler," he muttered, kicking the door shut and locking it awkwardly, dropping him with as least force as he could on the couch and staggering at the loss of dead weight. Jonathon, slouched out and looking bored, was staring thoughtfully at the ceiling and Jamie grimaced, tossing him the jacket onto the nearby chair and considering him silently for long moments. "Jon?"

A slight and rather helpless moan greeted him.

"I think you need coffee," he offered tiredly, finding as he did so that his legs weren't taking him towards the coffee maker but letting him stand there, staring down at the other man with a mixture of worry and unease. "You know you aren't supposed to be drinking, Jon." Another moan, more muffled but slightly defensive.

Jamie wondered what kept stopping him from just getting the stupid coffee.

Jamie wondered why he was even standing here at all.

A whimpering groan issued from the body and he raised his eyebrows warily, nervously as Jonathon shifted a few times, seemingly unable to pull himself off of the couch and onto his feet. The couch was soft, and deep, the kind of couch you sat on and ended up sinking into until you vanished from the face of the earth, and Jamie hated it, which Jamie suspected was the biggest reason Jonathon had brought it and put it in the apartment in the first place.

Now, Jonathon seemed stuck.

"Help—"

He bent, and ended up getting kicked in the gut for his trouble, dodging the next kick with a yelp of surprise and annoyance and finding Jonathon glaring up at him as he rubbed the bruising area carefully. "You're stuck in the stupid sofa, Jon." His next attempt, to grab him around the middle and dragged him up met similar resistance, one fist flying out to catch him across the cheek.

If he had been fully in control of everything, Jonathon probably would have knocked Jamie out with the blow since he happened to punch harder than any man Jamie had met, and he rubbed his jaw in remembrance of the first and last time Jonathon had been drunk. It had been an amused JR who had loaded both men into the backseat of his car and left them to sleep it off in the driveway of the mansion.

Waking up with a headache and a hung-over Lavery was no day to begin a day, especially not when he had slept in a position that made it impossible to turn his neck for three days. As it was, this time it brought a flash of pain to him but nothing more, a far cry from the blow that Jonathon had delivered last time, which probably had more to do with Jon's current control than anything else.

"You look like you're going to be sick."

All he got was a glare, even as the other man continued to struggle slightly, still failing in his endeavor to get off his ass. A bit wary to try again, he hesitated, watching the apparent life and death struggle unfolding before him, Jon now flailing slightly, mumbling quietly to himself and shaking his head. "If you would let me help you—"

"James— help—"

This time, he cooperated, stumbling as he was pulled to his feet and then took a shaky step back, eyes closing as he clamped his hands over his face. "Have you taken you medication yet?" He got no answer other than a groan and he winced, the swaying making him feel slightly sea-sick himself. "Jon—"

"Leave—go away—" was his only response before, after crashing into the side table hard enough to make the lamp crash to the ground, he lunged a few steps and hit the bathroom door, vanishing into the dimly lit room and leaving Jamie to blink a few times worriedly, waiting until it was silent before creeping after Jon cautiously.

If there was ever a time when Jamie wanted to shoot Jonathon, it would be now, not because he was about to spend the rest of the night taking care of a guy who had a history of violence and murder but because the guy with a history of violence and murder in question happened to be Jonathon, of all people.

"Jonathon—"

"Go away."

-

Ian was a man who liked his coffee black, and harsh enough to make his throat burn.

Holding said coffee in one calloused hand, he stared down at the stone, at the name engraved there. The case was closed, which wasn't surprising—Dixie had been eliminated as a suspect early on, as had Erica Kane and everybody else in this town that Greg had apparently had some kind of personal vendetta against. Whoever it was long gone, and would most likely never be found.

If they ever found the shooter, whoever he was, he'd be in more trouble for what he had accidentally done to Tad Martin than for shooting down the not-at-all missed Greg Madden. Ian himself had no great grudge against the shooter, but then he was one of the many who had pondered how easy it would be to choke the life out of the doctor for the man's medical—and moral—sins.

Sick and delusional genius with a God complex—what could be worse?

"I'm going to find her, you know."

Greg didn't answer, of course, but it felt good to say the words out loud, defying the dead man's judgment that he, like hundreds of others, wasn't worthy. Exhaling harshly, he shifted his feet in the muddy grass, green marred with streaks of deepest black in the moonless sky and then, making a disgusted noise, he flung his still burning coffee at the stone, another harmless blow to a man that didn't exist anymore anyway.

Still, though, it made him feel better.

Turning, he trudged back to his car, kicking off any extra mud from his feet and climbing in, his monthly visit concluded for now. He was still feeling the effects of his last trip to Italy, and he needed to head back to his place and catch at least a few hours but no, he needed to go check in and tell Dixie the usual—no leads, no trail, no hint of whoever it was that had put her ex into a coma.

She'd gotten her daughter back, possibly at the loss of her ex-husband.

Ian, snorting, noted that he wouldn't have any such problem when he got his daughter back—his wife was already dead, long dead and cold in the ground, which he had since come to believe was best. She'd gone thinking that everything had been the way it was supposed to be, that she had nothing to worry about and that he had everything under control.

Ignorance truly was bliss.

"Too bad I'm so fucking smart," he muttered, taking the last turn away from the graveyard and heading in the vague direct of PVH, overly bright and depressing home away from home of the closest thing he had to a friend. Increasing speed, he relaxed the smallest bit, leaning back in his seat as unhappy thoughts eased, smoothed by the curses he had silently hurled minutes before at the slab of rotting meat that had destroyed any hope he had once had for a life after his wife.

-

Frank would be getting his ass kicked.

David had no love for Jonathon Lavery—and everyone knew that, should Ryan ever need a heart surgeon, David would be the last doctor he should go to—yet, here he was, spreading the word that Frank was to be brought to either his office or Jo's when he came into work next, depending on which doctor was there and available at the time.

A tiny part of him had a desire to wake up Martin just to mock him with news of what the puppy had been doing but, no…

No, here he was, trying to keep his sanity steady as he struggled to cover a mistake made in a moment of grief-fueled weakness. Of course, even if he had gotten to the hospital _before_ Tad Martin had arrived, he doubted it would have changed the first four months of nothingness that the other man had fallen into—the blood loss alone had been severe, to say nothing of the damage done to internal organs.

If one didn't count the coma, Martin could be counted as one of David's great success stories, considering just how bad a shape he had been in when he finally got to the hospital, and without overdoing it, it could be said that David Hayward had brought Tad Martin back from death.

On the other hand, though, he was also keeping him from life.

He had found to his dislike that it was becoming harder to lie to Amanda, not that he was all that surprised at the deeper development of things in that particular region of his life. For one thing, she was smarter than she looked, in a bitter kind of way, years of playing mother to her mother sharpening her instincts to a knife's edge. She was young, but she wasn't, something that made it hard for her to fit into most of the world's neatly divided areas, and incapable of being helpless—even for his sake.

For another, there was the problem of her protective-streak, frightening at times in its intensity, rising up and striking out at whoever she deemed dangerous to her little family unit. The last thing he needed was for the truth to come out and to have to protect not only the other one but her, too.

It was a new position for him, and he didn't like it.

He had things prepared, of course—if he had to bodily throw her into a trunk, he would be sending her away to as far away and as safe a place as he could find. Most likely some place on some far-off island, where she could sip brightly-colored drinks and walk around in a bikini all day long, cursing him and his own protective streak.

Plans kept him calm.

Having Trey call up, informing him that the reason for his endless planning was missing was not, however, keeping him calm.

Trey had, of course, proven to be almost disturbingly helpful, loyalty blooming for his brother's side since David refused to allow him to come back to Pine Valley anytime soon, no matter how much the younger man sometimes complained and sulked about being pinned down in Paris.

Yet, helpful as he was, and with Montgomery dealing with the other boy at the moment, this still happened.

-

Edie almost wished she could hate him.

But she couldn't, and so she hated that she couldn't instead.

Sitting on his almost empty desk, she studied the mess littering the floor like dead fishes, wincing at her overactive and emotional imagination and what it was doing to her overwrought heart. He had fled, and while she knew she'd be able to find him—she knew all of his hiding places, where he went to lick his wounds—she didn't want to, too raw herself from his words and his emotion.

She wouldn't know what to say to him.

Compared to Zach, raising Tracy had been easy. Even when she was slamming doors and screaming that she hated her mother because she had somehow gotten her nose pierced despite her mother's orders to not even think about it, she had accepted love gratefully, thankfully, and gave it back when the two females weren't engaged in one of their rare but still awesome battles

Zach, though…

Even when he took what you offered, he refused to let himself enjoy it, always prepared as he was for it to fade—or be ripped away. He gave it, if you were lucky, but he never let himself savor what Edie gave, not really… she could count on one hand the number of times he had accepted her quiet comfort, and each time she could remember somehow being angry and saddened at how he still seemed to be waiting for her to snatch it back again.

Tracy basked in what she was given—Zach would fight to get away from it with any means he had available.

There had been a few weeks though, where he had stopped fighting, seemingly content on some level to accept what was offered freely, even if he had seemed uncomfortable with the change. But when it had changed again, it had changed in a way she hadn't been prepared for—her comfort had been brushed off, and her words had been ignored, and her caring was viewed with something almost like panic.

A psychiatrist would have a field day with Zach Slater.

She plucked a paper from the desk, smoothed it out across her legs tiredly, staring down at his handwriting, jagged and rougher than usual with his own emotions and then rubbed her face, body sore and heart heavy. "God, you're such a stubborn ass." She received no answer from his office and grimaced, jumping when she heard the first shrill sound of his phone ringing.

Letting the paper flutter to the floor, she dropped down and crossed around the desk, to where the phone lay. Bending down, she scooped it up and held it to her chest as she answered with a ragged sigh of, "Zach Slater's office, this is Edie speaking." Silence, an absence of any noise and she rubbed her face, exhausted. "Hello?"

A heartbeat more of silence, and then a barely audible click, enough to make her stare down at the phone uneasily, shifting from one foot to the other. She hung up the phone, and then set it up carefully on the desk, standing back and staring down at it, suddenly feeling like she wasn't supposed to be here, something she had never felt before while standing in Zach's office.

She left quickly, and quietly, going back home to Tracy, who took her love and didn't fight back against it.


	27. Chapter 27

_I'm just trying to find  
A decent melody  
A song that I can sing  
In my own company_

_I will not forsake  
The colors that you bring  
The nights you filled with fireworks  
They left you with nothing_

_I am still enchanted  
By the light you brought to me  
I listen through your ears  
Through your eyes I can see_

_I wasn't jumping, for me it was a fall  
It's a long way down to nothing at all_

_And if the night runs over  
And if the day won't last  
And if our way should falter  
Along the stony pass_

_It's just a moment  
This time will pass_

_- U2, 'Stuck In A Moment You Can't Get Out Of'_

_

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Seven_

* * *

"_You're becoming delusional."_

_She dragged a shaky hand across her face, dragging in a wavering breath harsh with emotion. "I see the way you stare at him—" Her voice caught, hitched, and then wavered back, staring at him accusingly in the mirror. "He's just some kind of—some kind of… something to study for you."_

"_I'm a doctor, Emily—"_

"_He's our son!"_

_He exhaled unhappily, loosening his tie and then peeling it off, draping it across the bed. "He is the most important thing in my life, Emily, you know that—"_

"'_Thing'? He's not a 'thing,' Greg!"_

"_Emily, stop it!" He took a quick step, crouching down at her side as she smacked her palm down on the bureau, eyes welling with tears. "Have you taken your medication today? Have you eaten?' he asked softly, worriedly, reaching to cup her face tenderly only to snatch his hand back with a jerk, her teeth just barely missing his fingers. "Emily, you're tired."_

"_I'm going to leave—I'm going to leave and I'm taking our son with me—"_

"_Emily—"_

_She slapped his hand away, breathing heavily and teary-eyed. "You've been taking his blood, haven't you?" He hesitated, unable to lie at this moment and she dragged a hand across her face again, voice rougher than before. "He told me about it, he told me that you've been taking his blood Greg… what are you doing with it? You said you were going to stop." Her breath hitched, and then came back in a sob, "Greg, you promised me you would stop."_

-

Josh had moved beyond worried, and had now darkly settled into being outright pissed off.

And here he was, checking the penthouse.

Again.

It had none of the warmth it should have had, which caused him further irritation. Flicking on the lights, he left the main room and entered the bedroom, exhaling noisily as he glanced at the bed awkwardly. She wasn't here, but he didn't care, not really, since he suddenly had a full realization of where he was.

Kendall's… place.

He poked his head into the bathroom quick, finding nothing of interest and began to search the drawers quickly, finding clothes and not much else. Jerking open the closet, again cursing the fact that calling her cell phone—or lack thereof—would be useless, he flicked through shirts and dresses, wrinkling his nose in disgust at finding Lavery's lame-ass green Mr. Rogers sweater.

"I'm sure it's a real wonderful day in your neighborhood," he snarked absently, resisting the urge to snatch it out of the closet and destroy it as a punishment for even buying the hideous thing in the first place. Shoving it back in disgustedly, he looked up, eyes searching the sides of shoe boxes and finding nothing of interest.

There had to be something—

He yelped in surprise when something hit him, hard, on the head, and an explosion of letters rained down on him, showering him as he hunched his shoulders, awaiting a hundred paper cuts and relieved when the onslaught finally ended and he had no massive bleeding gashes.

Rubbing his neck, grimacing, he crouched, frowning as he realized what was scattered around him… letters. He shifted a hand through them, finding everything from thin and flimsy pieces to a massive thick manila envelope, apparently holding extra items, to judge by the way it felt when he squeezed it experimentally.

Letters.

Dozens— no… no, hundreds of letters…

She hadn't—

Flipping the overturned box back to rights, scooping them up and into the box, he froze when he heard a female voice, unerringly familiar and, with a curse, he stepped back into the closet, pulling it closed and diving behind, of all things, the stupid Mr. Rogers sweater, jerking in a mix of surprise and annoyance when a door banged open and Erica's shrieking filled the penthouse before Lavery's yell of "Kendall, baby… are you here?" reached him.

He desperately suddenly hoped that Lavery was the monologue kind of villain.

-

Jonathon was acting oddly.

Setting the coffee down in front of the man cautiously, he took a small step back, uneasy by how he was sitting, arms wrapped around himself as he stared at something nobody else could see. "Are you okay?" He didn't get a response and sighed deeply, wondering how tricky it would be to get Jonathon into the shower to clean off. "Jon, do you want me to call Erin?"

He shook his head violently, starting to gnaw a thumbnail and still not looking at him, concentrating on something Jamie couldn't see. "I don't need anything," he finally responded in a ragged voice, pushing one foot against the coffee table, "I'm completely fine, I don't need Erin."

"Want me to call Jo?"

Dark eyes flicked to him, studying him with a sudden suspicion and something close to panic. "I don't need to talk to her, okay? I've got everything under control," he added more fervently, and Jamie wanted to snatch his hand away from his mouth, half-worried he would gnaw his fingers off. "You just blew chunks all over the bathroom after drinking god knows how much, alone," he added in irritation. "What if you had gotten violent?"

"I didn't."

"Tell that to my bruises."

His head snapped around, eyes pinning him where he stood awkwardly and making him squirm with their intensity, feeling like he was being searched for any sign or any flaw Jonathon could find. Apparently finding none, he searched even harder, voice suddenly angry. "Do the words 'violent psychopath' mean nothing to you, James?"

It wasn't rare for him to call him by his actual name, in fact most of the time he addressed him as James instead of Jamie, but the tone now was angry, and almost explosive, and Jamie ground his teeth for a moment, calming himself carefully. "I know what you're capable of—"

"No, you don't."

He counted to ten, and then to twenty and then gave up, exhaling harshly and heatedly. "I know enough to be careful. God knows you spend enough time saying it to me… 'I'm so dangerous, you have to be careful, I could snap any minute and it could be worse than before' and I don't take it as a joke—"

"Get out."

"No. No, I'm the one who pays the bills, remember?"

He got a look in answer that could have flayed skin from bone before Jonathon looked away; going back to his nail biting and rocking slightly, something that disturbed Jamie far more than that look had. "Are you sure you don't want me to call Jo?" The response was heated, a scathing glance and a rudely snapped "Fuck you" as Jonathon continued to bite and tear as if his life depended on it.

Finally, Jamie snapped, driven by awkward silence and his own growing unease, taking two steps forward, he ripped the hand away from the tearing teeth and yanked, swearing slightly at the brilliant red staining the edges of short nails, and the torn flesh now an ugly shade of rich pink. "You're hurting yourself."

"It helps."

"Helps what?"

He got no answer and he looked down at the hand again, limp in his hold and marked with Jonathon's sudden slip into something Jamie violently wanted him to get out of. The other man had moments that brushed across this every so often but not _like_ this, with that look in his eyes and that tone. "Jo would want me to call her."

"Please don't call her."

He dropped the hand hastily, wiping his palm on his jeans and then pacing a few times, rubbing his face. Joanna would want him to call her, even if he wasn't acting like this, she'd want to know that he had gone out and gotten himself that drunk without telling anyone where he was going.

Looking back, he found dark eyes studying him intently, and stopped, staring back for long moments. He had gone limp, sinking back into the couch again and simply sitting there, once again reminding Jamie harshly of a puppet with his strings cut, or a badly posed doll somebody had forgotten, left behind.

"Tell me what's going on."

"I don't want to."

He didn't like this, having Jonathon look at him like some frightened shell of himself, like a helpless child looking to him for some kind of salvation or rescue and he pressed the heels of his hands against his face, trying to stop thinking and failing because, once again, this was Jonathon and wasn't he supposed to help him?

"She won't leave me alone."

His heart stopped and he followed, stilling for a moment before staring at the empty-looking man on the sofa, finding dark eyes focused on blood-tinted fingers, flexing them and swallowing. "She went away and now she's back… and she—she just keeps—she won't stop." Fingers curled into fists, and he sank back, staring unseeing at the space in front of him. "It's never… hurt this much."

He needed to breathe. He needed to fill his lungs and then let it out so that he could say something, say anything but he couldn't remember how and so he forced himself to, feeling his lungs burn before the air blessedly reached them, easing that pain and leaving another, more hollow ache where his heart was.

Finally, dully, he said the only thing that came to mind, relieved almost to a breaking point when Jonathon didn't object and frightened to a breaking point that he didn't even respond to the words. "I'm going to call Jo." There was no answer, but then, he hadn't expected one, and so he swallowed and called Jo.

-

"Anita?"

Pausing a second before her car door had closed, she poked her head back out of the car as JR Chandler jogged towards her across the drive, frowning in slight confusion. "What are you doing here?" He looked slightly worn, and if she hadn't been as tired as she was, she probably would have given him a few words of comfort.

But she was tired, and she wanted to sleep.

"I was just dropping off Erin," she explained, nodding her head to the massive mansion in front of them and absently noting the flicker of emotion he got in the back of his gaze at the words. "Your maid took her to bed; Erin said she has a guest room?" He nodded absently, eyes on the mansion and drumming his fingers against the open door thoughtfully. "Yeah, she has one, just in case."

"Well, that's good, then."

"Is she okay?"

"I think so; Jo said she needed some sleep."

"Jo?"

Anita offered a helpless shrug, resisting the growing need to yawn and trying not to jingle her keys in his face to get the message across. He must have caught the look on her face, though, for he stepped back and closed the door for her, moving away from her car and then vanishing into the mansion, leaving her to start her ignition and finally head home.


	28. Chapter 28

_Too late to save myself from falling  
I took a chance and changed your way of life  
But you misread my meaning when I met you  
Closed the door and left me blinded by the light_

_Too late to save myself from falling  
I took a chance and changed your way of life  
But you misread my meaning when I met you  
Closed the door and left me blinded by the light_

_Don't let the sun go down on me  
Although I search myself, it's always someone else I see  
I'd just allow a fragment of your life to wander free  
But losing everything is like the sun going down on me_

_I can't find, oh the right romantic line  
But see me once and see the way I feel  
Don't discard me just because you think I mean you harm  
But these cuts I have they need love to help them heal_

_- Elton John, 'Don't Let The Sun Go Down On Me'_

_

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Eight_

* * *

"_Are there any chances—that maybe its wrong—"_

"_Don't be so silly." Brushing aside his rather ragged question, Erica passed him the papers with a finely manicured hand, watching as he snatched it and smoothed it open, staring at the lines that he understood from his years in medical school but that he felt strangely confused at right now, still fearful. "I told you there was nothing to worry about."_

_Josh still hesitated, staring at the evidence and still waiting for it to change, and then looked up, exhaling quietly. "Hazel said— Hazel wouldn't lie, not about this, okay?" The look she gave him made a spike drive into his skull, splintering into the pain that he had been keeping at bay with Tylenol for the last several days. "Hazel said that he—"_

"_Oh, for—" Lowering her voice the smallest bit, leaning forward, Erica plucked the paper from Josh's hand, folding it and cramming it into her itty-bitty bag—Josh would never understand why women used such tiny, good-for-nothing purses—and shrugged small shoulders. "Hazel lied, Josh… why else would she have run off when she did?"_

"_But—" Greg was still a raw mark across his core, and he had no idea what he felt about him, whether he hated him or loved him or wished he could come back or was glad that somebody had killed him. Taking a deep breath, he asked in a raggedly wavering tone, "What if that test is wrong? What if—"_

"_There is no 'what if,' Josh." Jerking her head back at the closed door of the empty hospital room they had found to read the results of the test, a test no one but them knew about, she set one hand on her hip and sighed lightly, as if amused by his fears. "Hazel was just being dramatic… my grandson is not your brother!"_

"_But—"_

_She held up her hand, silencing him, stilling him, and when she spoke, there was an intense edge there. "I am Kendall's mother, Josh, even if you don't like that I am your mother—Greg was a twisted man, and we both know that… but this?" She flicked her fingers out, gesturing not at their environment but at the worry at hand. "That is Ryan's baby… Kendall's husband, my son-in-law… your brother-in-law."_

"_Mom—"_

"_Trust me."_

* * *

He'd never been allowed to be nervous with Babe.

She'd always been the more forceful of the two, flinging herself into something and dragging him along, sometimes kicking and screaming in defiance. It had been a relief, no matter what happened, to be able to be led around, and allowed to pretend to be just some guy without any issues.

Except, he'd come away from her with more issues than he had ever thought possible.

Babe hadn't loved him, and even after he understood that, he hadn't wanted to accept, hadn't wanted to cope with the idea that he had given everything he had to someone who didn't even see him. He'd have done anything for her, and she couldn't see it, and he knew that, had he not finally thrown in the towel, she'd have destroyed anything left of him—possibly without even realizing she was doing it.

Babe was too much of a survivor to love anyone, he had finally decided.

JR didn't understand Erin, but God knew he wanted to.

It was entirely possible that he looked like a big idiot, standing at the foot of the stairs and staring up with a fearful sort of awe at the fact that she was somewhere up there. He could hear Colby singing something in the next room where she lay on the couch reading something about herbal remedies—why she was singing 'Let's Get It On,' frankly, he didn't know, but he was rather focused on the problem at hand at the moment.

"You look like a big idiot."

He shot her a look, which she brushed off with a taunting smirk.

"I'm just… waiting."

"Waiting for what?"

He looked at her more closely, cocking one eyebrow when something like a blush rose in her cheeks and she ducked her head behind her book, mumbling unintelligible words. "What's that look for?" He got no response, and glared suspiciously for a moment or two, finally heaving a sigh and forcing himself to ascend the stairs.

He made a cautious beeline for the room they had prepared for her if she ever needed it, finding the door cracked and the lights on and a sound that made him raise both eyebrows as he took the last few steps and hesitated before glancing in, torn between laughter and embarrassment.

There was Erin, stretched out in bed and cuddled under the covers, hair wrapped in a towel as his son sat some feet away, reading with the slow steadiness of a young child. Struggling not to point and giggle, he slipped in and shut the door behind him, seeing that she was, indeed, asleep. Moving closer, he grinned irrationally at the sight of Little A's stuffed lobster, now tucked into Erin's arms.

"What are you reading?"

"Book."

"Of course." Pausing, he glanced again at Erin, fingers twitching at the urge to brush the escaped tendrils that had slipped out of the twisted-up towel. She looked warm, at least, which was something. "Does she know you're in here?" His son's guilty look was answer enough, and he sighed deeply, scooping up the boy and setting him down on the floor, seeing that the boy had been reading "The Lorax," the one Erin usually read to him when he was sick.

"Did she say you could come in here?"

"No."

"Did she tell you not to come in here?"

"Yes… she said not to."

"But you came in anyway?"

"She was crying," Little Adam said plaintively, and JR ground his teeth for a moment or two, startled by the swift and painful tightening in his heart at the words. "Did she say why?" His son shook his head slowly, looking confused, brow wrinkling and JR grimaced, wincing as he rubbed his face.

"Come on," he finally sighed, flicking off most of the lights—except for the small lamp by the door—and scooped up his son again, carrying him out of the room, leaving the door cracked. He was confused by Erin, and her sad similes and hopeful eyes and bitter dreams, but he understood his son, and he clung to him now, tucking him in with something like desperation.

He'd be there for her when she woke up.

* * *

Feeling brittle with foreboding, Bianca spent an extra fifteen minutes fiddling with her sleeping daughter, finding herself unwilling to leave the limbo she had taken shelter in to confront Maggie's anger. The car ride home had been silent, not the comfortable silence they had always shared even during their most difficult times but something painful and foreign, and it caused a quiet ache to start in her heart.

Maggie was angry, and everything felt wrong because of it.

When she came downstairs, however, she found that Maggie was nowhere to be found, and hesitated, taking in the sight of the keys flung angrily down on the kitchen counter. Sighing deeply, resisting the urge to just lie down and sleep on the couch, she headed back upstairs and towards the bedroom, hesitating at the open door.

There was Maggie, ripping off her dress and striding towards the bathroom in nothing but her cotton underwear, meeting Bianca's eyes once before vanishing and slamming the door behind her hard enough to make the house feel like it rattled in response. Bending, she nervously lifted up Maggie's dress from the floor and then awkwardly folded it across the back of a chair, glancing at the shut door out of the corner of her eyes.

"Maggie—"

She stopped, unwilling to try; closing her eyes and leaning against the chair she was next to, she held her breath and tried to stop the quiet trembling. Maggie wasn't often angry, and when she was, she went out of her way to keep it quiet and weak, always afraid of losing what she'd taken so long to find in her life.

This was beyond angry.

It was palpable and it was heated and it was painful, cutting at Bianca's heart with shameless viciousness, leaving her helpless in the face of it. She wasn't used to it, and was consequently baffled at how to approach it—usually, she'd goad Maggie into opening the door, but the door loomed in front of her like some silent beast, threatening and warning her away.

"I'm going to sleep on the couch tonight."

She got no answer, and her nerve failed her, letting her flee the room and bolt downstairs, away from the fury swirling behind the door. Clicking off the lights, breathing heavily, she dropped onto the couch awkwardly, kicking off her heels and pulling the afghan onto her as she huddled into plush fabric, still in her dress.

JR.

The sudden fury gave her heart something to focus on other than the woman upstairs and she scrambled for it, feeling heated and dizzy at the sudden rush of outright hatred. He'd looked so pleased with himself, so satisfied to know that she was suffering, and she felt all the more sure of herself as she let out a slow breath.

Once again, he destroyed her life.

_You're the one who didn't tell her when you could—_

She clamped her thoughts down hastily, unwilling to lose her fury, clinging to it with a greedy desperation, closing her eyes tightly and exhaling harshly, twisting the cloth of her cover in her slender hands. Finally, reaching to swipe hot tears from her cheek, she leaned forward and snatched the phone off the coffee table, jabbing the memorized phone number with trembling fingers and then laying back, shaking.

"Hello?"

"Babe?"

"Bianca— Bianca, what's the matter?"

"JR—" Her voice caught, and she almost choked before managing to continue in a cracked voice. "JR— he told Maggie, Babe—I've never seen her so angry, Babe."

"It's okay…. Bianca, it's okay, I'm here."

* * *

"Aren't you just the most precious thing I've ever seen?"

The child carefully feeding herself cookies offered Myrtle a distracted smile, very carefully using small hands to break the cookies into small bites. She seemed intent on her work, and while Myrtle half-wished the child was more welcoming, she was grateful just to have her here now.

Fiddling with the chain holding her glasses, the elderly woman studied the girl with a warm kind of pride, grinning as the girl very slowly mashed a chocolate chip between thumb and forefinger, tip of her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth. Licking her fingers clean, she went back to her cookies.

She didn't move her bottom half, sock-covered feet hanging down from the chair but she was clearly cared for—her outfit, shirt and skirt, were matching and pleasant colored. Wavy hair has been carefully done up in two braids, hanging down on either side of her face. She was a quiet little thing, a far cry from how Bianca had been at this age.

But she looked happy, and that was a far better reassurance than Myrtle could have asked for.

"You finished your milk, darling."

Eyes rose to her, and then to the empty mug and then she gave that distracted smile again, and nodded a few times. The elderly woman stood, plucking the mug up from the table and heading into the kitchen to get the girl a refill. By the time she came back, the girl had pushed her plate back and was smoothing her hands across the top of the table, looking around the boarding house with interest.

Setting the mug in front of her, Myrtle took her seat again; watching as two small hands lifted the mug up and tipped it back, slowly drinking, she reached out and toyed with the end of one carefully constructed little braid. The mug came back down to the table with a soft noise, and she set her hands in her lap, looking at Myrtle in interest. "Do you know who I am?"

A hapless shrug of slim shoulders and Myrtle chuckled slightly, flipping the braid over one of the now still shoulders. "Your mother is my granddaughter, darling, and I am your great-grandmother grandmother." She nodded to the door where the younger woman had slipped out of some time before, leaving little girl and elderly woman to bond. "I haven't seen a smile like that on Skye's face in years—you must have some kind of magic."

Lila Rae's answer was another distracted smile.

* * *

It had been several months since he had last heard that flat line in his thoughts.

Tonight, he heard it with the same horrifying clarity that he had felt years before.

Sitting in his car, staring out into the darkness, he listened to it with a quiet sort of defeat, the long noise obliterating his thoughts and leaving him shaken, and dazed. It was amazing, what had stayed with him through the years while he had banished other things, amazing the things that refused to leave his heart despite his best attempts to grind them away.

That unending flat line, he had come to realize, was the loudest.

The most painful, no matter how many years passed.

Rubbing his face, trying to hear something over the noise in his memory, he opened the car door and climbed wearily out, hesitating and resisting the urge to dive back in and close his eyes and wait for it to stop. He had gone to see Ethan, wanting to say things and unable to as he gazed at a flat stone with no feeling… not the surge of emotion he had always felt at his mother's grave.

Still felt, at her grave.

Still felt, at even the thought of her grave.

Here he was, again.

_"You're a masochist, Alex."_

Zach ignored the whisper but Alex listened and cringed, stepping back and hiding himself more deeply in the back of his thoughts, the words striking him with the same pain that the noise in his memory was causing. Starting off at a slow pace, he headed for his old condo, Michael's old condo, a hazy mingling of hope and devastation that it brought to him sweeping through him viciously.

It was an accident that he glanced to the left just as she was darting through the other condo, a shadow within the darkness through the windows. He paused, knowing the movement and who made it with the clarity he had always afforded her. The movement was gone as swiftly as it had come but he knew it and he hesitated, stilling as he gazed at the not-so empty condo.

Kendall.

Still, he hesitated, feeling like that boy in the hospital again, heart constricting with knowledge he didn't want—that she was dead, and that Kendall was broken, and he swallowed, taking one step forward and then two quick steps back, shaken even more. His heart was raw, and aching, and here he was, feeling that deep-rooted tug within him to bolt into the condo and try to fix her and himself and pretend that nothing was wrong at the same time.

He needed to leave.

He needed to stay.

He needed.

He moved closer involuntarily, trying to stop himself and helpless to as he twisted the doorknob and found it unlocked, hesitating again, for a heartbeat, before stepping in, stopping as he closed the door behind himself, finding himself enfolded in a heated darkness, sighing raggedly as he listened for any sign of her.

When he heard it, it was, again, by accident—a startled cry that spilled into a darkness that matched the crash of a slim body tripping over something the blackness. A heartbeat later, he grunted in surprise when something warm and wet at the same time slammed into him, knocking him back against the door.

And then Kendall was gone, scrambling away with a strangled noise into the darkness of the condo.

And, involuntarily, he followed her.


	29. Chapter 29

_When you try your best, but you don't succeed  
When you get what you want, but not what you need  
When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep  
Stuck in reverse  
When the tears come streaming down your face  
When you lose something you can't replace  
When you love someone, but it goes to waste  
Could it be worse?_

_High up above or down below  
When you're too in love to let it go  
If you never try you'll never know  
Just what you're worth_

_Lights will guide you home  
And ignite your bones  
And I will try to fix you_

_- Coldplay, 'Fix You'_

_

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Nine_

* * *

"_I'm very sorry, Mr. Cambias."_

_She didn't sound it, not really and he searched her face for some seconds, searching for the sympathy behind her words. But there was that noise in the background, and his eyes slid past her, at the body being unhooked from the machines, a lifeless husk that looked nothing like the slim form he could barely remember from years before, before that thing got inside her and ate her away._

"_But—"_

"_I'm very sorry, Mr. Cambias."_

_This so stated, she brushed past him, peeling off her gloves as she moved, nonexistent noises when compared to that blaring sound coming from in front of him. People murmuring, talking in quiet voices, and he choked on a breath when she nearly rolled off the table, caught and eased back down as another wire was plucked off colorless skin._

"_Is she—" He stopped, and then tried again, wanting to move closer but desperate not to. "Is she really—"_

"_I'm very sorry, Mr. Cambias."_

_His head snapped towards the voice, took in the doctor and the pity and he flinched when that sound in the background suddenly stopped, as if somebody had flipped a switch. When his eyes finally shifted back to the table, she was covered, a faceless shape that could have been anyone._

_But it wasn't anyone._

_It took a good five minutes for his mind to recognize the sobbing behind him, noises that grew louder as his father banged into the room and past his eldest son, demanding to know what had happened and why they hadn't tried anything more, words that made his stomach shrivel, remembering the jerking of the body at their attempts._

"_Mr. Cambias?"_

_He swallowed, breathing oddly and feeling small and hating both and unable to do anything about it, and finally pressed his palms against his face, heart shuddering in his chest at the emotions flooding him. "Where did she go?" He had no idea where the words came from, or how they could spill out of him with his throat aching like it was, but the words slipped out anyway, ones unexpected and expected at the same time._

"_She probably didn't feel much at the end, Mr. Cambias."_

_It seemed to be meant as a comfort and it went down hard, his body feeling odd and foreign as it all sank into him. Finally, shaking his head, he turned, staggering slightly as he pushed his way through the door, leaving his father's confusing and bittersweet grief behind him only to be confronted with Michael's raging, small body packing painful force as he proceeded to take it out of the older boy, a beating Alex took with a grateful shudder, welcoming the pain and clinging to it as something physical, something he could understand._

_He couldn't understand anything else._

* * *

There were too many lost children to count.

Too many to find and return to homes they never knew had been taken from them.

Most had been written off over the last year, while others had been forced to stay in their home, the judges ruling, each time, in the favor of the adoptive families, and grinding any remaining hope down with cool decision. In the end, it was only those who refused to follow the law who got their sons and daughters back.

Even then, though, it was an uphill battle.

It seemed, from the records and the DNA tests, that Josh Madden had been the only child that Greg had created with his own sperm, a relief to the officials handling, or at least trying to handle, the case at hand. Why there was only one was a question few seemed willing to answer, too relieved that they wouldn't have to handle that drama as well.

They would be grateful with what they had been given.

Later, however, they found themselves coping with the more painful trouble at hand—Greg Madden's mistakes.

* * *

Once upon a time, he had viewed Erica as a kind of foster mother, a far cry from the bitterly damaged and viciously angry woman who had raised him. He'd looked into his future and seen holidays spent with his family, with Kendall, and whatever children they might eventually have, and it would be everything he had never gotten to have—everything that had been taken from him when he lost Gillian.

It was different now.

Erica was exhausting, and it was exhausting to try to keep her out of his business.

His future didn't include Kendall, and it didn't include the others—it included Chris and Di, and that was it, uncomplicated and basic, unhampered by Erica's obsession with perfection. Di was simple, and she was easy to love, and she asked for nothing he was unable to give, something he couldn't remember from any of his relationships with the Kane women.

Even Bianca, he had found to his surprise, was exhausting.

Now, wishing sorely that Erica would get the hint and leave him the fuck alone, he flicked on the light in the living room and tossed his keys onto the coffee table, letting his coat drop to the floor by the door and quickly looking around for any sign of wayward curls or depressingly bored-looking green eyes.

His search was in vain; there was not the slightest sign of Kendall.

"Damn it—" He jerked in surprise when a hand grabbed his arm and spun him, making him face her again, the second time that night. He had enough to worry about, what with Josh butting in where he wasn't needed or wanted, and now Erica flinging her self-righteous bitching at him when he was so frustrated. "Maybe Kendall can forgive you, if you'd just try!"

"I really wouldn't give a damn, Erica."

"Don't say that, I know what you two mean to each other—"

"Clearly, Erica, you don't." shoving her back slightly, he flung open the bedroom door and then ripped off his shirt, letting it fall to the floor as a damp pile of clothe. Jerking open the closet door, he snatched out a shirt and then slammed it shut, making something thump in response from within, making him roll his eyes at how much junk Kendall had accumulated over the years. "I don't have time for this—"

"But you love Kendall!"

"I stopped loving Kendall a long time ago, Erica—and a small part of me is sorry about that, really." He wished Di would answer her phone, wished she would stop fighting him on this, but he knew it was useless, at least right now. He grabbed a jacket from the back of the bedroom door and tugged it on. "Where do you think Kendall would go?"

"You care about her, I know you do!"

"No, Erica, you just wish I did—so that, when Kendall finds out what all you did, all of what you did, she won't hate you for it." There was a sudden thump from the closet and he rolled his eyes again, knowing that next time he opened the door, he'd have an avalanche of shoes to wade through, which was just the perfect ending to the perfect freaking day, wasn't it?

"Kendall will understand why I did what I did—"

"Really? All of what you did?"

"I did what I did because I love her, Ryan! My god, Ryan—" Her voice caught, and she closed her eyes, pressing a wobbly hand against her face as she shuddered slightly. "Ryan—" A ragged breath before suddenly moist dark eyes met his, pinned him for a heartbeat with their emotion as her broken voice came back, shaky with feeling. "Ryan, if she finds out the truth, it will destroy her— Ryan, she will never be able to get past it—"

"She's stronger than you give her credit for," he snapped, trying to move past her, but she shook her head furiously, grabbing at his jacket, bottom lip trembling oddly. "You don't understand, Ryan, it'll rip her to pieces— I know that pain—" Her voice broke, and for a moment, he actually felt for her… just a moment, though.

"Greg didn't rape her," he hissed, but she swallowed, still shaking her head. "It doesn't matter, Ryan—he violated her, he used her for his own twisted reasons, and he manipulated her into it!" He wished, violently, that she would get out of his way, let him go search for Kendall so that he could fix this mess. "Get out of my way—"

"Ryan you can't tell her… please, it'll destroy her."

"Then don't force me to."

She stared, wide-eyed, for several moments before he saw it sink in, and her already large eyes grew even larger with realization. "Ryan… Ryan, don't do this." He shoved past her, feeling her rush after him, her voice strangled. "Ryan, what do you mean don't force you? Ryan, don't you dare walk away from me!"

Snatching the keys off the table, he shrugged, casting a rather vicious glance at her over his shoulder. "You played with our lives, Erica—you decided I was supposed to be a father, and that we were supposed to be married and one big happy family, remember?" He jerked his head around at the empty penthouse, made a world-weary sound of exhaustion. "Didn't work, Erica—and when it all comes out, it's going to be you fault—"

"You said—"

"Let's put it this way," he snapped finally, reaching his breaking point as he stalked to the door and opened it, addressing her over his shoulder. "You tell Kendall about I'm doing, and I tell Kendall what you did—" He held up his hand, letting light flicker off his gold wedding band and cocked an eyebrow. "—and I tell Kendall everything you did since that explosion last year." He dropped his hand, pushed open the door and looked back at her one last time, unforgiving and unfeeling in his hatred of this entire ordeal he was caught in. "Everything you've done."

And then he was gone, leaving Erica to stand as a small woman, shaking in her suddenly overwhelming fears, drowning in them as she fumbled desperately for some kind of leverage against it and came up with nothing, vision growing blurry as she gave in for a moment to the crushing weight of her sins.

And then, as she swiped tears from her face, things somehow got worse.

"What the hell did you do?"

* * *

Joanna was shaking.

This wasn't a rare occurrence for her, in her line of work, but it was stronger now than it had been in a while. Smoothing her hair with trembling hands, she finally got out of the car and headed into the building, making a beeline for the elevator that would take her to the apartment.

The problem of gathering courage to knock on the door was easily solved, it seemed—Jamie was standing in front of her the door, pacing and muttering, kicking at the floor every few heartbeats. When he spotted her, she hitched the slightest bit in her walking, half-afraid the not-so-tiny would come lunging at her and crush her in his relief of seeing her.

"Something's wrong with him."

"I know."

It seemed, at the moment, they were sharing a brain—as it was with Jamie Martin, she was mildly annoyed and slightly afraid.

"Want me to go in with you?"

"You don't have to, Jamie."

He looked confused, as if he wasn't sure whether he wanted to go back in to offer what strength he could gather or wanted to stay out here where his heart wouldn't hurt at the words. He looked angry, too, and she shifted her bag from one hand to the other, staring intently at the door for long moments. "You can stay out here, sweetie."

If he was annoyed at his new nickname, he didn't show it.

She'd had these moments before, but while she had an impressive history with patients that other doctors were uneasy with handling, Jonathon was, as always, a special case. Very few of her patients had suffered mental breakdowns that led to the deaths of three people, and very few had been handling the effects of a tumor at the same time.

"You want me to stay out here?"

She pondered, considering before looking back at him, realizing what he was prodding for. "I'm hungry," she announced lightly, digging into a back pocket and pulling out her wallet. "I'm hungry for something and I don't know what it is." She handed it to him, smiled emotionlessly as she gave him an excuse to not be there. "Why don't you go grab us something?"

"Like what?"

"Anything."

"Anything?"

"Yeah."

A few more moments of uneasy silence as he stared at the shut door and then he glanced over, took a tiny step closer. "I called Erin, but she wasn't answering her phone… shouldn't she be here?" he added more quietly, and she swallowed, shaking her head. "Erin went to the mansion, the Chandler place… I think she's had enough for tonight."

Enough for a lifetime, Jo added to herself silently, watching as he processed that carefully, finally seeming to relax. "She's with JR?" She nodded, listening to the noises inside the apartment, what sounded like— "Is he moving furniture?" He stared and she blinked, frowning. "When did he start moving furniture?"

"When I told him you were heading over."

"I see." She didn't but she'd make herself, she decided, shifting her bag again and then wrapping her arms around the emotional-looking man, not sure if she was stealing strength or offering it before she finally pulled and jerked her head to the elevator. "Go call Hayward and tell him where I am, and then get something to eat."

He obeyed, apparently thinking better of what he had been about to say.

The noises continued, as she let herself into the apartment and then stopped abruptly as she found herself the focus of lost and confused dark eyes, freezing as he restlessly pushed the couch from one side of the room to the other. There was a heartbeat of that stare, chillingly empty before it flicked behind her, to where she had left the door open halfway.

"What are you doing?"

"Jamie called me."

She moved slowly, not blocking the door as he followed her absently, and she finally pressed fingers against her temples, bracing herself before she met his dulled gaze again, more completely, not letting him look away as she dropped the bag to an overturned table and let her arms hang down at her side, somehow still unprepared for how _gone_ he was.

He recognized her, so he wasn't too far gone, in theory but there was that look, something that warned of how badly he had come unfrayed in just the last little bit between time between vanishing on Jamie earlier in the day and this, a trembling man with large eyes and frightened breathing.

Wherever he was right now, he wasn't completely anywhere.

She watched, carefully, as he tugged absently at corner of the couch with red-tinged nails, and he dropped his head, staring at his own restlessly moving hands, looking smaller than his six foot two frame. "Jonathon, what happened?" He jerked, hesitating before looking up again, hands fisting in the couch as he shook his head, not able to meet her eyes completely. "Nothing happened."

"I talked to Erin."

This was so far against everything she usually did, it was frightening, or at least it should have been, she supposed, taking a breath and letting it out slowly as she fluttered fingers at her side thoughtlessly. "She told me some things, Jonathon." He stared, saying nothing, hands twisting in plush fabric and she took another careful breath, forced it back out.

"We need to talk about Gail—"

"Get out."

He didn't even sound angry, and was probably no longer capable of such a hard emotion in the face of it all but she still refused to relax, knowing full-well how fast she had seen him move before, most often in an effort to get out of her office as soon as he could. "Don't look at me like that," he snapped suddenly, voice strangled strangely, and she sighed raggedly, trying not to picture what he was most likely seeing.

"I'm not Gail."

"I don't want to."

She worked hard, at times, to not think—her mind was filled with things, living nightmares passed onto her by shaken children and scared adults, and while she would never be able to know their pain, she carried the weight of it with her everywhere. It was why she had started going gray so early and had yet to stop, and it was why she woke up some mornings wanting nothing more than to curl up and die because, maybe, she'd stop thinking about these things.

Yet, as bad as it was for her, with pain that wasn't her own, she knew that it was nothing compared to them.

She carried echoes of it, but they carried the scars, and this was why she was here, to help the wounds heal over as cleanly as they could, leave their mark but not twist the person anymore than they had already been twisted, lance the wound and give it some kind of chance to work to a point where it no longer hurt to breathe.

She couldn't imagine, except...

She didn't want to, but she did anyway.

"I'm not here to make you do anything—"

"I don't want to—"

"Jonathon!"

A flinch inwards, and then silence and he closed his eyes and bit his lip, making a noise not unlike a trapped animal as he fisted hands into the couch again, gripping it a force she was grateful he was still working at restraining, even when he wasn't fully there, half in the present and half in the past and not whole.

"Please go away."

"I wish I could, but I can't…"

He laughed, a harsh noise and she winced at her own choice of words, watching him twist hands, knotting up fabric with merciless emotion, the only way he seemed to be able to express it—and that was the problem, wasn't it? She would usually try to get a smaller bit closer, just because it seemed to help the same way that getting too close would hamper it all but she refrained now, carefully.

"I think it's time to talk about Gail—"

"We don't have to… not really…"

He sounded desperate, and he most likely was… but he wasn't an idiot, the eyes that finally met hers again weren't any clearer but they were somehow sharper, somehow more aware of the fact that she was who she was supposed to be, and not Gail and it made her swallow, nodding her head back to the door. "I didn't lock it, in case we need to go out for air."

"Air doesn't help."

"I know."

"I don't want to do this now."

"I think you do."

He shook his head, making a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. "You did something to my head," he finally managed, and she winced inwardly at the terrified accusation beneath the words. "You did something and nothing I do to make her stop works anymore—you did something to my head—"

He looked horrified at his own anger and closed his eyes, going oddly pale as he rocked slightly, shaken, a move that he no doubt didn't realize he was doing. He wasn't somebody who acted like this, not usually—where others would withdraw or go quiet, he just got angry, and attacked anyone he could, in some kind of attempt to make somebody else suffer like he had.

He looked very young, and very frightened, and she took a moment, remembering the pictures she had in the file, of Lorraine's bruises and Maggie's interview when the sessions had first started, her attempt to realize what he was capable of when he got agitated enough, or frightened enough.

Or drunk enough.

At the moment, he was all three… albeit to different extents.

"Jonathon." She stopped, waited until dark eyes focused on her after several heart-twisting moments, waited until he had finally stilled with a last shiver before she took two steps, stopping when he made a quick movement of panic. It was close enough, though, and she was at last treading semi-familiar territory. "Jonathon, do you want to sit down?"

"No."

"That's fine, then," she said to the unstable and pained look he shot to the couch and she waited until he once again looked back at her, apparently confused by her response—which gave her another something to chew on, study, see what it had to do with him and Gail and what she had done to him. "Jonathon, we need to talk—"

"Please don't make me."

If she could have, she would have dropped it, she would have—

"I don't know where they came from."

She stopped, startled, staring at him for several seconds as her mind caught up, working to process the oddly blank look on his face. "You don't know what came from?" Several heartbeats of jarring silence and then he made a noise that could have been a laugh at any other time, jerking his head. "Bruises," he finally whispered raggedly, "I have bruises all over, where she used to… where her feet used to… and where she used to hold me down…" He trailed off into a soundless whisper, and she took the second she had to catch her breath, grateful at having something offered. "I don't know where they came from…"

"That's okay—"

"But they hurt."

A slow breath, careful, and then another as she tried to keep eye contact, jarred despite herself by the twists he was taking in front of her, anger flaring and then dying, and while she'd seen it before, she never got used to it. "That's just your memory, Jonathon, trying to cope with everything—"

"My brain gave me bruises?"

"Something like that."

He looked confused, and she couldn't blame him—she'd had enough dealing with somatic memories since becoming a therapist to last a lifetime. Few people understood what they were, not least of all the people who told her fearfully that their bodies were doing things, feeling things they hadn't felt since—

And he flipped again, staring at her hard suddenly, and almost cruelly, eyes narrowing. "What did you tell Erin? Did—did you corner her, did you force her to say things?" Before she could speak, could even open her mouth, he shook his head furiously, voice getting louder. "They're lies, you made her say things— she wouldn't have told you anything!"

"Erin came to my office, because she was in pain—"

"Did somebody hurt her?"

"Jonathon, no— no, she… Erin wanted to talk, and she came to my office and we talked—"

It was the wrong thing to say, for it made him spin into another area, another surge of emotion.

"Does Ryan know? Oh, god, did she tell Ryan— oh, god— did she tell him?!" The last of his words was almost a sob, and her gut twisted with sudden alarming understanding. Not waiting for her reply, he strode past her, stumbling twice and she jolted, rushing past him to slam the door and block it, finding him suddenly jerk to a halt, staring at her with wider than normal eyes and breathing that had quickened again.

"Ryan doesn't know," she stated firmly, bracing her feet and holding out her hands, small things that could do little damage to him, no matter what he was seeing right now, whether it be her or Gail. "I didn't tell him anything, Jonathon—and he won't know anything about Gail until you decide to tell him."

"You're lying—" And now, he was sobbing, and it hurt her more than it should have, seeing his fragile hold slip away, crumble beneath the weight of that panic. "You told him— Erin told you and you told him— oh, god, he's going to hate me—" She shook her head, but he had turned away, grabbing at the back of his neck, entire body shaking. "He's going to know everything, oh, god… oh, god, he's going to hate me—"

He didn't even realize she was there anymore, and even as she made a grab for him, he suddenly collapsed onto the carpet like a puppet with his strings cut, burying his head in his hands, strangled words muffled as he sat and shook and sobbed as if his life had finally truly ended.

* * *

Kendall looked small, and she looked fragile, and he hated the look of her like this.

They just kind of stood there, staring at each other, and he wasn't sure, exactly, why—wasn't sure why his voice wasn't working, and wasn't sure what he would have said even if his voice would work. The uncertainty was unwelcome, and only left him angry and exhausted, even more than he had been after leaving the casino.

It didn't help, and he closed his eyes finally, feeling world-weary in a way he never had before.

"What do you want?"

He opened his eyes, stared at her for long heartbeats, and then finally offered a helpless shrug, not knowing himself, exactly, what he wanted. "I don't know anymore," he finally admitted and she snorted, nodding her head as she gestured jerkily around them, apparently bitterly amused at his words.

"What are you doing here?"

"I don't know."

He stared at her again, taking in the mess that had been her dress and frowning at it, somehow unbelievably irritated by it and the memories it brought back, a delicate-looking woman crying on a doorstep, heart bleeding and tears flowing freely in her speechless agony, and then the warmth of her before he let her have some part of himself he hadn't even been sure existed anymore.

"Kendall?"

"Its Mrs. Lavery now, remember?"

If it was an attempt to hurt him, it was a success and his eyes closed again, taking a breath and holding it, listening to her breaths in the dim light through the windows. "You never set us a wedding present," she added more quietly, a cutting edge in it as he opened his eyes once again, half-expecting her to be gone and somehow angry that she wasn't gone.

"You already had everything you needed, remember?"

She flinched, and his heart twisted, hating that he was grateful when her eyes dropped and she looked away, lower lip suddenly trembling with her quiet pain. "Kendall—" She flinched again, more sharply, and he clamped his mouth shut, wanting to leave and needing to stay and hating that he was unable to fix this. "What are you doing here?"

"It doesn't matter."

She reached up, wiped a sudden tear away from her face, shrugging with a ragged burst of laughter, strangled with things neither of them could say. "I did it all, I did everything and—" Her voice broke, and so did his heart and she continued, not staring at him but past him. "I did everything I was supposed to do, except I didn't… except—"

"You didn't do anything wrong," he said instantly, taking two steps forward without thinking and then jerking two steps back when her eyes focused on him and her hand came up, the crack of her palm against his cheek cutting more deeply than anything else could at the moment. "You said that I would love him!"

"You do—"

Another slap, harder than before, the sound of it making his heart jump at the force behind it and her lip trembled a heartbeat more before the tears overflowed completely, streaming down her face unchecked as she stood, noiseless sobs shaking her form as he tried to ignore the sudden flare of heated pain that settled on his face. "But I don't… I don't, you were wrong!"

"You love your son, I've seen it—"

"I don't think I've ever hated anyone more."


	30. Chapter 30

_Give me release  
Witness me  
I am outside  
Give me peace _

_Heaven holds a sense of wonder  
And I wanted to believe that I'd get caught up  
When the rage in me subsides _

_In this white wave  
I am sinking in this silence  
In this white wave...in this silence...I believe _

_I can't help longing  
comfort me  
I can't hold it all in  
if you won't let me _

_Heaven holds a sense of wonder  
And I wanted to believe that I'd get caught up  
When the rage in me subsides _

_- Delirium featuring Sarah McLachlan, 'Silence'_

_

* * *

Chapter Thirty_

* * *

"_Jonathon, you're hurting your hand."_

_If he heard her, he didn't respond, driving his fist flat against the bricks with a shallow noise like a dry sob, and she hesitated, not because she was afraid of him but because she was afraid for him, that she'd touch him and he'd simply fold in on himself, crumble under it all and she'd lose all she had left._

_The only thing she had left, as terrifyingly fragile as it was._

"_Jon—"_

_He was bleeding, where his knuckles had hit the stone badly—but was there a good way to punch stone, really? A good way to not hurt yourself when attacking a wall because it was all you could get your hands on?—and she swallowed, running fingers though dark red hair to brush it back from her face with a ragged sound in her throat._

"_Jonathon, you're bleeding—"_

"_Don't touch me."_

_She dropped her hands instantly from where they had been hovering above his back, wanting to soothe him but too shaky to really do anything. A long breath, an unsteady noise that rattled in her lungs and she swallowed the sound down, strangled it down as he ground his knuckles against the brick, as if he was trying to tear his skin off his bones. "We can go wash them off."_

_His head snapped up, staring at her and not seeing her and she took an automatic step back until recognition filled his gaze and his shoulders trembled with exhaustion, swallowing soundlessly. "Erin—" Her feet were under her again, and she was steady again, and she moved forward, sliding arms around him and pressing herself against him, trying to make his trembling stop. "Erin—" His voice broke and she blinked furiously, breathing shallowly against his shoulder, tightening fingers in his jacket. "Erin, she said—"_

"_Come on," she whispered harshly, throat aching, and he hesitated, looking back over his shoulder at the darkened house, frowning and she bit the inside of her cheek, only breathing again when he moved towards the car, shutting himself off and leaving her to stare at the house, slim form shaking._

_There was blood on the bricks, and she shook her head as she turned away, moving fast to the car and climbing into the driver's seat, shifting to check on Jonathon's hand, already turning a ghastly shade of blue-purple, making her blink again, holding herself back with a familiar teeth-grinding kind of control. "I think you broke it."_

"_How did I break it?"_

_She bit her lip, running fingers across torn skin, and shook her head finally, forcing herself to meet his eyes completely, the only person who seemed to be able to without looking away, picking up on something most people didn't want to acknowledge. "You were helping me pack, and you hurt it."_

_And he accepted it, a small blessing as she started the ignition, hands trembling, wishing she could have figured it out before he had driven back here, and she closed her eyes for a heartbeat, resisting the urge to walk back up to the house and ask her why, why she had done it and why she was now pretending it had never happened and why she acted like it didn't matter anyway._

_She looked at her brother, smoothing hands around the steering wheel and then looked away, heart rate kicking up uneasily as she thought of what he'd been telling her, the voices he was hearing and the things he said he was seeing and— What was she supposed to do, tell him he wasn't losing his mind and that what he knew was real or… or pretend it had never happened?_

_It had happened, she'd seen— she'd heard—_

_But, if he forgot—wouldn't that be better, in the end?_

"_Erin, there's something wrong."_

_With my head, that was what he didn't say and she flashed him a look, smiling slightly as she reached out and touched his hand, the product of his breakdown, a breakdown now forgotten or pushed to the back, she didn't know which it was but the effect was the same, and she didn't know what to do with it because she didn't know what to do…_

"_Nothing's wrong, baby."_

* * *

Shifting, she tucked herself tighter into the covers, curling fingers into her pillow and staring silently at the wall lit by dim shadows, trembling slightly as they drifted, whatever breeze there was outside causing the trees to shiver slightly. When she was finally aware of the voices, muffled through the old thick doors that made the mansion so cozy and intimidating at the same time, she closed her eyes, going limp when the door opened a crack.

"And she didn't say anything?"

"No, Mr. Chandler."

The older man made that sound he made when something was bothering him, and she bit the inside of her check, suddenly fighting a small smile as she could practically see his face, brows furrowed and lips quirked in worry. "JR? What did he say?" he finally asked and she bit harder, no longer amused and suddenly intensely curious despite herself.

"He just said to let her sleep, and then—"

"So he knows she's here?"

"Of course, Mr. Chandler, he's come by the room a few times to check on her—"

Here, she found sudden pleasant warmth filling her middle, something she wasn't used to but somehow didn't mind and pressed a hand to her stomach under the covers, fascinated by it. JR, especially those expressive eyes of his, did intriguing things to her, made her skin heat and her blood pound faster than it was supposed to and— and, she wasn't supposed to feel this safe—

"But she's okay, though?"

Was Adam worried about her?

"JR— Mr. Chandler said that he had it under control, and not to bother her."

More silence, and she listened to a small rhythm, realizing that he was drumming his fingers across something that sounded close enough that she was glad she had closed her eyes quickly. She almost jumped out of her skin when a hand brushed hair from her face and tucked the covers more securely around her, and bit her cheek harder than before.

"Very well then… just, if anything happens, tell me."

"Of course, Mr. Chandler."

Footsteps moving away, and then the door opening, and then closing to a quiet click of noise, leaving her to pet the stuffed lobster under one arm, one claw tucked under her chin and offering her more warmth than she would have guessed any toy was capable of creating.

She wasn't supposed to feel safe, when Jon was— when he was hurting.

But— but she did…

* * *

Tad wasn't in good shape, by the time they got him to the hospital.

He hadn't been in the best shape after Dixie had come back, not eating and barely sleeping, and he had spent several weeks punishing his body for the pain he was struggling to deal with, something he hadn't done since he had first come to the Martins, still shadow-eyed with too much understanding of grief.

The emotional ups and downs played their part, no doubt; grief for Kate and then fury when he finally began to understand and the fear, of course. Fear that, god forbid wherever she was, she was shadow-eyed as he had been and still was when he forgot that he was supposed to be better now.

It was an agreed upon fact that it was the blood loss that did the most long-term damage, and for a while, they had all waited breathlessly for the stroke to come on, since all the signs pointed to one coming. None came, though, and as weeks melted into months, the fact was finally accepted—Tad was in a coma, and a deep one at that.

Despite a few heart-rending moments when it had looked like he would wake up, his state had remained essentially unchanging.

Dixie was arrested, and then she was released; the fact that no gun had ever been found had helped her case and doomed Derek's and, because it was Pine Valley, a few people returned from the dead and the drama that had been Dixie's return and the later blood-stained night at the clinic was relegated to back-page news.

It was old news.

There was nothing happy about the aftermath of Greg's move to Pine Valley, not even Kate's return a mere month after the night of Greg's death; it was supposed to be Tad and Kate, for Dixie, and since there wasn't, she wasn't either. Whatever strength had sustained her during her years searching for Kate and fighting her way back from her own comas had finally failed her.

Not surprising.

Even the pain in her bones, a dull ache through her years in Europe, was sharper, making her breath catch in her throat when it got to cold wherever she was. She'd left to give them their future and instead she'd lost everything—and she still wasn't even sure how. She knew the basics, but other things were hazy, perhaps because her mind knew what her heart couldn't take and kept it from her.

Dixie had never felt so exhausted in her life.

* * *

Josh didn't think of himself as a saint.

He thought of the reasoning behind it, thought of the talks he'd had with Bianca, usually unwilling, about Miranda and Kendall, about Erica's longtime damage and her unending issues and he had felt for her, he had. She'd been raped, and nothing could excuse that, nothing anybody said made it any less than what it was, and he'd never looked down on her for that, because he knew too many women who had given up their children because they couldn't do it, not because they were weak but because— because they knew how to put the child first.

That somebody else would be able to give that child what they'd never be able to give them.

But—but this—

"Tell me I'm wrong."

"Josh—"

"Tell me my father didn't—" He stopped, closing his eyes and taking a breath, calming himself forcefully, and when he opened his eyes again, tears were rolling down her face, effectively squashing any hope that he'd been clinging to. "Oh, god—" Words caught and he pressed a hand to his face, trying to make himself breathe slowly and steadily, knowing he would pass out if he didn't. "So, my sister's kid is my half-brother— Jesus Christ, Erica, only in this town."

"You can't tell Kendall—"

"She's not you," he half-shrieked, feeling frantic but she grabbed him, digging fingers into his arm and gazing at him with horrified eyes. "Josh, if she finds out, it'll destroy her— you can't understand— you couldn't possibly— Josh, she was violated— Greg—what Greg did— oh, God, Josh, please don't tell her—"

"I have to go tell her—"

"Josh, please don't!"

He hesitated, not stopping but hesitating at her tone, a wild hysterical screech as she clung to him, breath hitching violently enough that he pitied her small body, too often used by people other than her, too early forced to carry an extra weight and he felt it again, that sudden surge of aching sympathy that he wished he didn't feel right now, with all of these other emotions. "I have to tell her—"

"You don't understand, it'll destroy her, Josh… she—she'll never be able to get past it, she'll never be able to sleep at night—"

He worked his arm out of her hold, trying not to shatter her as he pushed her back, heart clenching swiftly as she began to sob, hitching sounds from deep within as she stood there, looking very young and very desperate and very lost. "She's not you, she has us…" When she shook her head furiously, apparently unable to form words, he put more force into his words. "Kendall's not you… she has us… she has Bianca and me and we will help through this—"

"You don't understand— I know, I've been there—"

"I think that's the problem, Mom."

* * *

She was Brooke English, damn it.

Flipping her phone closed with a sharp snap, she climbed out of her car and jogged up the path, pounding on the door before she had even stopped moving, repeatedly, as if the smooth wood was the cause of all of this nonsense. It wasn't, of course, but it made her feel a little bit better for a heartbeat before, jerking to the side to dodge her fist, Livia jerked open the door with an almost comedic sounding, "What the hell is wrong with you, lady?!"

Smacking Livia sharply in the side of the head with the folder in one hand, she pushed into the house, tossing her bag to the side table before spinning back to the irritated-looking woman closing and locking the door behind her, staring at Brooke as if she had somehow grown an extra head. "It's Chandler, isn't it? He finally made you lose your damn mind, didn't he?"

"Adam is not the problem," Brooke snapped, waving the folder unhappily, "the problem is Erica and her god complex."

"What else is new?" When she moved past Brooke and deeper into the house, flipping on the light as she entered the kitchen, the redhead followed fearlessly, relieved when Livia started poking at the coffee maker, still scowling but having decided that if Brooke English showed up at your house in the middle of the night hissing and spitting, it was serious.

Livia was indeed a smart woman.

"What did she do now?" she finally asked, rubbing her neck as she worked to maneuver two mugs out of the cabinet and nearly braining herself with one before Brooke helped her, letting the other woman take the chance to splash a bit of water on her face, enough to make her wake up completely. "You're acting like she doesn't do this every other day— wait, what did she do?"

"A real shitty thing," Brooke replied with brutal bluntness, turning away as Livia glared at the coffee maker with all of the focus of one wanting it to stop sitting uselessly and actually work. "I thinks she outdid herself this time," Brooke added more viciously, and Livia winced, stabbing at the coffee maker with one angry finger, wishing futilely that Tom would just buy them a real damn machine and not insist on fixing on the old one over and over again.

"What did she do?"

"A real shitty thing—"

"You said that already!" She smacked the side of it, and was rewarded with nothing in response as it continued to sit there, laughing at her, not for the first time leaving her with an urge to beat her husband over the head with the stupid thing. "And Erica doesn't have a god complex; she has a goddess complex, remember?"

"Don't say that to Colby," Brooke advised absently and Livia winced in remembrance, Colby's attack on the reporter who had gone to the mansion to see if the next heir to Chandler was, in fact, a Satanist instantly floating to the fore of her mind. How such a small-looking girl could break a man's nose so easily was beyond her, but she had, leaving all with a respect for her deceptively tiny-looking fists.

A bit more violent, wasn't she, than the usual Chandler?

She was probably taking kick-boxing lessons and the weekly yoga classes were just a cover—

"Are you listening to me?"

She jolted, twisting to look over her shoulder, wide-eyed and confused for a moment before blinking to regain her sanity. "What?" she finally asked blankly and, with a sharp noise of weariness, Brooke strode across the room, grabbed Livia and then tossed her into one of the chairs before proceeding to stride to the counter, studying the coffee maker intently for a moment.

A heartbeat later, flashing a very Chandler-like smirk at the scowling lawyer, she plugged it in.

Needless to say, it did nothing to relieve her fury.

"I had no idea she would go so far in this obsession of hers," Brooke finally snapped as Livia poked at the folder in front of her, as if it might flip open and bite her. "I mean, I knew she probably pulled a lot of strings to get that ring on Kendall's finger but I had no idea she'd go to such lengths— my God, Livia, the audacity of it all!"

"Uh?"

"Oh, for—" Jerking open the fridge, Brooke snatched out a bottle of Pepsi and grabbed a glass, filling it and shoving it into Livia's hands. "Drink that! It's not painless at this time of the night but it's got caffeine!" Livia obeyed, slightly intimidated, and Brooke finally pulled a seat over to perch near her old friend, opening the folder and handing them to Livia, staring hard. "You're a smart woman, Livia— put two and two together."

It took a moment but Livia finally managed to read through the first page, and then reread it, trying to push the headache towards the back of her mind to let her process it. She knew that it meant something, she did—something about JR Chandler floated to the front of her mind as she frowned, feeling the moment when her brain finally shifted the pieces together enough for her to realize what it said. "Where did you get this?"

"A friend of mine, a few hours ago— I can't get in touch with Kendall, or Bianca or Josh… and I'm damn sure not going to let Erica know that I know—"

"Do you think Ryan knows?"

Brooke gave her a look and Livia drew in a long breath, still working to let it all sink in on more than a base level, fingers tapping against the pages. "You're sure about this?" she finally asked, and Brooke gave her the look again, enough to make Livia rub her face in uneasy understanding. "Brooke, if this is true—"

"I told you, didn't I? I told you this was a really shitty thing."

* * *

The bitch about post-traumatic stress disorder was that, every so often, somebody wouldn't begin to fully fall victim to it until years after they got away from whatever the cause of the trauma was. From the second she'd had Jonathon's file put on her desk, and Bianca Montgomery asking for somebody who could handle him, she'd fully believed he suffered from it in addition to every other mental disorder he showed unending symptoms of.

But she hadn't found any symptoms of it except for the ones that had been documented directly before and after his breakdown in 2005, which most in her profession, she had found to her fury, tended to write off as just symptoms of the breakdown itself. It didn't mean he didn't suffer from it, it just meant that he was good at hiding it at other times, and she'd been forced to focus on what he was willing to share. Later, as she'd started growing suspicious of Gail Lavery—she wished the woman was alive, just so that somebody could confront the bitch about it—she'd started wondering if Braden had done something to start that breakdown, if Braden had said anything that might have triggered something Jonathon was so carefully keeping buried in the back of his mind.

She'd seen it before—that moment of complete loss of control, and then that terrifying anger, sweeping everything away in its path, ripping everything it could find to pieces in some effort to find control or destroy everything that could possibly be a danger. Even years later, that anger was there, simmering quietly with a bitter kind of self-shame fueling it, and she'd seen it in Jonathon, something he kept clamped up until it finally exploded and destroyed everything in it's path. Everything dark in a person came out in that moment, everything they were capable of, and she had seen it enough times to have a sharp recognition of the approaching storm when they began to build up.

Jonathon, though, had few memories of his conversation with Braden, and those that he could remember were the ones that he himself had fabricated after killing the oldest brother of the Lavery clan. They had been what she considered clean breaks, with no memory of anything, and whatever had happened during those times was something he couldn't handle—painful, how damaging the body's struggle to survive could be to the person itself.

He'd had that breakdown after his first few months in college—she'd give her left leg to know what had triggered that one—and was put into the hospital, which left three years between his hospitalization and whatever had happened to cause his second breakdown, the break that had led to Ryan's shooting and later the death of Edmund Gray in addition to his eldest brother. It didn't make sense, for her, not that the man who had left Ryan Lavery bleeding and broken years earlier would come back and try to save him from Jonathon; it didn't fit, and she hated every time it popped up during one of Derek Frye's nagging questionnaire of Jonathon's progress.

Now, though—

Body having gone numb from exhaustion both mental and physical, she flipped through her tapes, frowning as the one she looked for kept evading her. She wanted to go check on him, see if the nurses were handling him well enough, but she needed to find the damn tape, because she needed the damn thing to— With a jolt, she finally saw it, and snatched it up, setting the box on her desk and then shrieking in pathetically feminine surprise when she turned and ended up smacking into Jamie, who was far too big a man, thank you very much.

"Sorry—"

"Wait, what's the matter—? Shit, did something happen?"

"Um… maybe…"

"What?" She was frustrated, and she wasn't afraid to admit, it, because her head was pounding and her heart was aching and her hand, locked around the tape, was trembling with smothered emotion. "What do you mean?" she snapped with more heat when all he did was look down at his feet, like a sullen child. It didn't help her mood—

Neither did the stain of something that looked like grease on his shirt, as if his hand had been shaking too much to keep his food on the fork when he'd been trying to eat before he had gotten her call to meet them at the hospital—

"I think I broke him, Jo."

Ah, shit.

* * *

"You don't mean that—"

Kendall started giggling, pressing a palm against her face, shoulders trembling enough that he was half-afraid she'd fold up and collapse to the floor like a shattered doll. She looked like one already, and her laughter, strained and ragged, was disturbingly abrasive, such a far cry from the rich sound he'd enjoyed so much, even before he'd fully began to appreciate it. "Oh, Zach, if I told you, you wouldn't believe it."

He thought, unwillingly, of the feel of her when Lavery had gone off that cliff what felt like years before, curling up against him and crying, taking comfort he could provide only in breath against her hair and arms around her form. Even crying, though, there had been straightness to her spine that spoke of a stubborn strength born of heartache, achingly familiar to someone who had learned too early not to show his weaknesses.

He wasn't sure what he hated more now—that he knew she would never wrap her arms around him again or the fact that, even if she did, he'd work his damnedest to push her away as quickly as humanly possible. It was better that way, in the end, a lesson that had been driven home through the years, long before his mother had passed and long after he'd held Kendall that night, easing some wall he had long enough to breathe in her scent without even thinking about it.

It was better that way, even if…

"You're a wonderful mother," he finally whispered, dropping his hands into the pockets of his coat to keep them from the smoothing up her arms and cradling her neck, taking consolation in the feel of her heartbeat against his palms. "Chris is—Chris is a very lucky boy, Kendall." Luckier than Ethan, who had died with hate in his eyes and bitterness in his voice and that was wrong, so wrong, that a man could die like that.

"I hate him—"

"Don't say that—"

She gave him a look at that, tearful but somehow sharper than he wanted it to be, and he swallowed, trying and failing to close himself off. He still felt raw, and he hated it, hated Edie for easing his control as much as she had and leaving him at Kendall's mercy. "Don't say you hate him—"

"But I do—" And her voice broke, shattered even, twisting his heart—how his heart could still hurt, after everything he had felt was beyond him—and he clenched his fists, pressing them against his thighs, a rush of recognition of standing before his father's desk leaving him staggered, remembering this was how he had stood and hating he felt the same now, if for different reasons. "Zach, every time somebody puts him in my arms, my heart— my heart gets ugly and cold and— I hate him, I hate my son—"

"Stop saying that," he snapped roughly, and she burst into laughter again, as fragile a sound as ever existed, doing more damage than any fist could ever do, turning away from him and pressing hands to her face, as if trying to erase her very existence from the world. "People keep saying— It gets worse, every time I look at him— and— and I—"

Silence, finally, cutting and harsh and silence isn't supposed to feel like that, heavy with pain and riddled with guilt about things that couldn't even be named. Again, for the third time in his life, words completely failed him and he swallowed, trying to bring any he might have up—he didn't always need to talk, but he knew things he had to say, knew what he wanted to say even if he never did.

Wanting to speak and being at a loss was… it was helpless, and it was almost more than he could bear…

"Kendall?"

He glanced over at Lavery before Kendall could, staring with forced blankness at the other man with a bitter taste in his mouth as Lavery strode into the room and gripped Kendall by her shoulders, making her look up at him. He could push him away, Zach thought irrationally, he could shove Lavery away and take her to the casino and they could talk—

And he had nothing he could say.

"You should take her home," he blurted out, graceless but it was something and he stared back with that same careful blankness when Lavery looked over, even when Kendall burst into sobs, turning away from both but not shaking herself out of Lavery's hold, just standing and sobbing, as if she had just realized something she had suspected for a long time.

"We need to go home and talk about things," Lavery told her finally, leading her past Zach and out of the dimly lit room, and Zach turned and watched them go, heart trembling in his chest, and then shuddering when she glanced over her shoulder one last time, one last heartbeat of desperation that he understood.

And then they were gone, leaving Zach to breathe harshly and try not to follow.


	31. Chapter 31

_Everything's so blurry  
and everyone's so fake  
and everybody's empty  
and everything is so messed up  
pre-occupied without you  
I cannot live at all  
My whole world surrounds you  
I stumble then I crawl_

_Everyone is changing  
there's no one left that's real  
to make up your own ending  
and let me know just how you feel  
cause I am lost without you  
I cannot live at all  
my whole world surrounds you  
I stumble then I crawl_

_Nobody told me what you thought  
nobody told me what to say  
everyone showed you where to turn  
told you when to runaway  
nobody told you where to hide  
nobody told you what to say  
everyone showed you where to turn  
showed you when to runaway_

_- Puddle of Mudd, 'Blurry'_

_-_

_Chapter Thirty-One_

_-_

_The two loves of her life were playing blocks._

_The long-needed break had finally been taken, the small brunette setting her books to the side to play with the pancake-stuffed little girl, and Bianca strongly suspected that Maggie was actually enjoying the block-play more than the youngest Kane girl actually was, which only made her beam more broadly in delight._

_Standing where she was, she could see them and they couldn't see her, which provided her with the perfect ability to enjoy the sight without being worried that she would interrupt their careful concentration. Shifting, she lifted her eyebrows as Maggie snatched one block from Miranda's castle to complete her own, replacing it with one of the many rectangular pieces she apparently didn't need._

"_Rome wasn't built in a day, Munchie," Maggie confided to her, and Miranda nodded absently, casting her second mother a distracted smile as she tried to put a blue triangle in the right place while Maggie threaded fingers through brown hair with a grin, brushing stray locks from Miranda's small face._

_It would probably be a while before Miranda could complete her feat— what she was trying to do was impossible by all the laws of physics, setting the triangle in the air itself and apparently hoping that the power of her Kane genes alone would keep it there the way she wanted it to._

"_It isn't going to work, Munchie."_

_Miranda shot Maggie a slight smile, and set the triangle in the air again, frowning when it dropped to the floor instead._

"_It's not working."_

"_See?"_

_Laughing, Maggie pulled Miranda against her, settling her between her legs and pressing several kisses against her forehead, beaming, chuckling when Miranda crawled out of her lap and went back to her building, leaving Maggie to climb to her feet, dusting off her jeans and finally noticing Bianca's silent study of her girls. "See something interesting?"_

"_Only a lot," Bianca snickered, moving close enough to press a kiss to Maggie's temple, holding her close for a heartbeat before pulling away slightly, enjoying the feel of Maggie's weight at her side and the arm that slide around her neck for extra closeness. "You two are so adorable you're going to give me cavities."_

"_You can't pull off that line, you don't have enough game," Maggie chuckled and, with a slight blush and a smile, Bianca drew her close selfishly for a moment before pulling away, setting the blanket on the couch and brushing hair from her face with a flick of her wrist. "I don't need game, I have Kane."_

_Maggie grinned, and said nothing, looking very pleased with herself._

"_What are you thinking?" Bianca finally asked, and she got a smirk in answer, Maggie now fiddling with a block that had been handed up to her by a still-focused Miranda. "Nothing," she finally replied, and Bianca lifted an eyebrow, picking up on the slight flush and the way Maggie refused to look her in the eye. "Maggie—"_

"_Have you ever thought about it?"_

"_About what?"_

"_Just… I mean…."_

"_What?"_

_Maggie looked at her oddly, a massive grin on her face, and then the smaller woman looked away, clearing her throat and then rubbing her face quickly, turning away and taking a few nervous steps. "It's nothing," Maggie finally babbled, as Bianca stared intently, "I was just being silly."_

-

Wrenched out of her sleep, Dixie lay still for several heartbeats, dazed by the sudden change from deep sleep to hyperawareness, muscles tight and skin trembling, not sure of what had woken her but knowing something important just had woken her out of her exhaustion-fueled semi-comatose sleep.

Unfolding, she climbed to her feet, swaying before she managed to find her balance and exhaled, pressing a hand against her eyes for a moment, sighing raggedly before she opened them again to stare at Tad, trying to figure out what had woken her since the sounds from the machines hadn't changed at all.

Finally, with quiet noise of defeat when she realized she'd never figure it out, she moved closer, reaching out to brush fingers against his cheek as well as she could past the taping, and then laying a palm against his forehead, stealing a few seconds of bittersweet comfort from the feel of him, even as jarringly wrong as it felt that he was here at all.

"I'm worried."

Tad didn't give her any help, and she sighed, threading a finger though dark hair, an unknown tic as she leaned more of her weight against the bed, tucking one leg beneath her and then quickly unfolding it when a stab of pain suddenly spiked where her leg met her hip, making her catch her breath. "I think Jamie's too connected to Jonathon Lavery," she muttered, aware on some level of how silly she must look, and, as usual, not caring.

"You know, the murderer who abuses women?" She paused, and then bit her lip, exhaling uneasily as she looked back at him, smiling dryly. "Not that he isn't, you know, trying… I mean, he's doing all this therapy but I can see your face now, looking at Jamie like he's an idiot but still trying to support him at the same time."

If Tad agreed with her, he didn't say anything—and she swallowed down the insane, ever-present hope that he would, one day.

"At least JR hasn't fallen in love with an idiot," Dixie added more thoughtfully, brushing fingers across this knuckles as she gazed sightlessly at the photo frames, images she clung to since she didn't have any courage left to go see them and feel the old familiar hurt. "I mean, Erin's… odd… but she's completely sane, you know?" Another pause, and she slid her hand into his, tangling their fingers and clinging to what she had left of him, a limp hand to hold—

Not so limp.

It took a moment to realize that there was a grip, a firmness, a tightness to the way his fingers wrapped around hers and her heart trembled, her breath catching as she stared down dumbly, not quite sure of what she was feeling. It was a dream, she decided in a helpless daze, feeling the pressure increase for a heartbeat, forever, before it was gone and he was gone, and she felt it, the moment he stopped trying.

It was over, and she pressed a trembling hand to his face, heart shuddering.

"Tad?"

If he had anything to say, he didn't say it….

-

Genetics didn't mean a thing.

His head told him that, but his heart told him differently.

Fingers itching to call Di, stab the number in and hear her voice, he rubbed his face, feeling more exhausted than he should have been capable of feeling, listening to the noises Kendall made as she stripped off the muddy remains of her dress and turned on the shower, and once upon a time, he would have gone in to check, to make sure she was okay, even if it had once torn him up to see her fragile.

Once upon a time was over.

When the bathroom door opened, he glanced up but she ignored him, slinking to the bedside table and grabbing a pen and a notepad. In the next moment she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her, and she didn't lock it, he didn't hear the sound of the bolt driving home, which only made his fingers itch more to call Di.

It would all work out, for the best….

His willpower wasn't the best, though, and he finally snatched up the phone, jabbing in her number quickly, leaning back as he counted the rings, becoming tenser as they went on. Hanging up, he tried again, and was grateful, for a second, that somebody had picked up. But the voice that met him was Julia's, and sharp with anger, which only made him more frustrated.

"What do you want, Ryan?"

"Is she okay?"

"Di's none of your business—"

"I'm just worried—"

"You should be worried about your precious wife, remember?"

He gripped the phone harder, staring down at the gold band on his hand and winced slightly, irritated that something he had wanted once so bad had become such a heavy weight. His eyes flicked up, finding the curled-up shape of Chris in the playpen, and he exhaled, clenching one ringed fist. "I just want to know if she's okay—"

"I am so sick of this," she snapped, and it was barely more than a hiss of noise; he sighed, knowing how pissed-off she now was because of his prodding. "You married Kendall, you married her— Vows are supposed to mean something, Ryan!" He snorted at that, nodding in agreement, but she didn't see the movement and kept going, voice gaining strength. "You can't play with people's hearts like this, Ryan!"

"Just, if she needs me—"

He stopped, closing his eyes as the connection ended up with a sudden click, and slammed the phone back down on the cradle, staring down at it and not seeing it. By the time he forced himself to his feet and made for the playpen, the sound of running water had faded away with several last squeaks.

He hadn't really looked at his son until he had found out he wasn't his son, which probably told him something he didn't want to think about. Now, he crouched, listening absently to the noises from within the bathroom, and watched silently as breaths were taken, Chris' eyelids moving in his sleep.

"I have everything under control," he muttered, gripping the playpen with white-knuckled hands. Last time he'd said that and meant it so much, it had led to this, everything he thought he'd wanted, everything that had been taken from them over and over again and here he was, trying to find his best way out without losing what he wanted.

It probably said something about him he didn't want to know.

-

Chris was his brother.

Hazel had told him, she'd told him… and she'd never lied to him, not once in his entire life….

He'd trusted Erica… because he hadn't wanted to listen to Haze… hadn't wanted to….

"Sick son of a bitch," he finally exhaled, voice ragged with unshed tears, and the words failed to help him, filling the silent car and surrounding him, tightening around him with a sickening kind of certainty and he decided, hands clutching at the steering wheel, that this must be what a hanging victim felt before he lost his footing.

"_Greg was a genius, Josh… but he was damaged, and he was— Josh, there weren't many things he wouldn't do when he put his mind to something. There weren't many lengths he wouldn't go to when he was set in his thinking."_

He wanted to call someone, but he had no one. If he knew where Hazel was, he'd have dialed her number, held the phone with trembling hands as she talked him down from this ledge he was balancing on, but he didn't know where she was, and he was unwilling to track her down, unwilling to have his worst fears confirmed because, if he asked her, she'd have told him the truth.

Hazel told the truth, even when it stripped you down to your bones.

He just wished he had been courageous enough to listen, bleeding heart or not.


	32. Chapter 32

_I'm more afraid of living  
than I am scared to die  
I'm more afraid of falling  
than I am of flying high_

_Every moral has a story  
every story has an end  
every battle has its glory  
and its consequence_

_I'm more afraid of loving  
than I am of being scorned  
but I will keep on trying  
though I have been forewarned_

_- Ben Harper, 'Glory and Consequence'_

_-_

_Chapter Thirty-Two_

_-_

_There was something… off._

_It didn't look off, not from where he was sitting, watching as his family bustled around, listening to dishes clink and crash against one another as they were set out, watching as his mother helped his father settle the ham in the right spot and then exchange little smiles when they thought he wasn't looking._

_He hoped he'd still be that useful to Dixie when he got to be that age._

"_You almost are that age," she whispered conspiratorially and he twisted his head, jerking in surprise to meet dusty blue eyes right in front of him. Blinking, he watched as she bent closer, reaching around him to tuck the ends of a napkin into his shirt, having to open one button before she beamed and pressed a quick kiss to his temple, brushing fingers across his pulse. "You robbed the cradle with me, remember?"_

"_Yes, that's true."_

_She grinned again, an amused curving of lips, and then kissed him again, with more heat, pressing her body against him until he was forced to pull away, smoothing fingers through her hair absently, forcing himself to calm down. "I don't think you'll ever have any problems," she whispered quietly, and he quirked an eyebrow, eyes tracking her movements as she pulled away from him and went to help everyone else._

"_I don't want to see you accosting my mother on the dinner table."_

_Tad glanced at JR, found him grinning wickedly, Bess curled against his chest, small fingers tugging at her father's buttons, brows wrinkled in concentration. "I'm not accosting her, at least not until after dinner." He paused, watched as Bess shifted, bounced a few times. "Where's Little A, anyway?"_

"_Out in the river, playing with Miranda."_

_Tad jerked, jolted, looked away from the little girl and to his stepson, something in his middle wrenching in grotesque horror but JR simply sat there, unbothered, smoothing dark hair across Bess's crown. "JR?" If JR heard him, he didn't reply, still focused on Bess, on smoothing her stray hairs from her face and on keeping her dress neat and tidy so that she could ruin it with her own food._

"_I'm sure Little A's fine, really."_

_Tad flicked a glance at Jamie, and quickly looked away, clearing her throat as he twisted in his seat and searched for Dixie, eyes finally spotting her making her way across the room with a plate of steaming corn, sharing a laugh with Brooke as they managed to set the food down, Brooke holding up one hand to let the light flicker off a piece of jewelry that looked suspiciously like an engagement ring. "You're engaged?"_

"_You're the first one I told," Brooke laughed, and he gave her a look, confused, focusing his attention instead of where Dixie had been a moment before, cooing over Bess. Except— "Where's Dixie?" Brooke ignored him, didn't even glance his way when he made a grab for her hand, just twisted her wrist out of his hold and stepped back. "Wait, where's—"_

"_It's okay, she failed, you won."_

_He looked at Jamie, watching in confusion as his son began to serve himself up, "What are you talking about?" He hesitated, searched, but JR was gone, too, and his quick check showed his parents were just as nonexistent, the dining room now empty as Jamie took his plate and began to pile it high with ham. "Where's Dixie?"_

"_Splattered all over Switzerland, from what JR tells me."_

"_But she was just—" His voice sounded odd, like broken glass, and he tried again, eyes watching as Jamie set the plate back down in front of him, looking absolutely perfect. A fork was shoved in his hand, a piece of ham stabbed on the end as he struggled for words, beginning to tremble slightly. "Jamie, where's Kate?"_

"_Haven't the faintest clue, actually."_

"_But— Jamie, where is she?"_

"_Don't worry about it, dad, I'm sure everything's fine."_

"_No—" Somebody brushed past him, and he tossed the fork down, managing to grab Dixie's wrist and tangle their fingers together, pulling her to a halt, heart trembling as she stood, hunched over, sobbing as if she was being ripped to pieces. He'd heard her sob like that before, when they had lost Bess, during their worst moments, when she'd been afraid of losing JR…_

"_Dix…"_

"_I lost all the pieces—"_

"_Dixie—" He dug his fingers into her wrist, struggling to hold onto her, but he was losing his hold, her fingers slipping out of his, and the panic it brought was familiar, a sickeningly perfect echo of years before, and he knew this wasn't real, because now he was aware of the fact that there was a dog dancing in a tutu just a few feet away…_

_Her hand slipped, and he shuddered, violently and softly, at the loss, something far more than just her hand._

-

It took Erin a good half hour to wake herself up enough to open her eyes.

They felt sore, and it was familiar, the aftermath of crying herself to sleep. It had been a while since she had done it, but it wasn't something she had ever forgotten. She raised one hand, pressing fingertips to closed eyes to ease the pressure beneath the lids, wincing as she dropped her hand to the cover again, shivering even though she was still warm.

And… she was holding a lobster.

It took another few minutes to put the rest of the pieces together and she sighed, slightly, barely more than a quiet breath as she tucked her legs up more and huddled more deeply into the covers, trying to force herself to go back to sleep. Didn't work, though, and she finally opened her eyes completely, staring at the wall until she forced herself to roll over and stare up at the ceiling.

If she stayed in bed for the rest of her life, would the monsters underneath it come out to get her anyway?

Yes… they tended to keep coming, one way or another…

Her movements were slow, like she had endured an hour-long beating, and she felt like it, heart trembling as she held the lobster under one arm and managed to pull herself to her feet, leaving the larger-than-life blanket behind and wrapping herself up in the body heat trapped by the sheet.

A glance at the bathroom mirror proved she looked as horrible as she felt and she winced as she twisted the water on and waited for it to heat. Eyes swollen up and puffy with too much abuse, face white and clammy, usually limp hair limper and more tiring to look at than usual, entire body trembling with emotion that tears didn't help to exorcise.

Erin never thought of herself as pretty, but now she looked downright ugly.

She waited there for something she didn't have a word for, watching her reflection blessedly steam over until she couldn't see herself and only then turning away, dropping the stuffed toy to the sink and kneeling beside the tub, twisting the water off and shedding her clothes, letting the sheet drop to the floor as a puddle of wrinkled white cloth.

Everything hurt, and while hot water rarely fixed anything, she needed it if she hoped to look halfway human today.

It took a few moments to force herself into it, burning hot as it was, but she couldn't handle cold water, and while it sometimes left her looking like a beet afterwards, she folded herself into it, shuddering once when it reached her neck, and then over, closing her eyes as she ducked her head down, feeling the heat lessen the ache behind her eyes within seconds.

She was shaking by the time she got back to the surface, and she smothered it hastily, sliding her hands down until she gripped the backs of her thighs in trembling palms, huddling into the heat desperately, stealing what she could and still feeling chilled by what she wasn't supposed to know… the things she'd told Joanna….

Erin knew she'd been the lucky one, she knew that…

She'd never taken care of a bloody nose, never pressed ice to swollen cheeks or jaws, never been forced to lie about falling off a bike or down the stairs, never needed to know what it felt like to hurt to breathe because your ribs had taken too much force and were all bruised up and you couldn't breathe without pain spiking up…

That had been Jonathon, not her.

Nothing really bad had happened to her, she knew that….

Her eyes were beginning to hurt again, and she reached up with one hand, rubbing at them with shaking fingers, a knot of something familiar but unfamiliar building in her chest. She'd felt it all the night before, like some massive weight was crumbling inside her, and she braced herself against it, fighting it and what she knew was going to happen.

Erin wasn't allowed to break, because Jonathon needed her…

She bent herself a bit more, lip beginning to tremble and closed her eyes, fingers digging into her thighs, breathing getting difficult past the weight in her chest, the one she instinctively understood would leave her a shell of herself if she let it go, and she dug her heels in, tears beginning to slide down her face.

She calmed, finally, the trembling stopped and she sat for several moments, catching her breath and swiping wetness from her cheeks, the aching at the back of her eyes almost unbearable, a building pressure warning her to give in before she hurt herself with her resistance and she shook her head to herself, refusing to give in.

She had no right, not with how everyone else had suffered… she wasn't allowed—

Erin twisted, smothering the weight in her chest down, reaching to grab the washcloth and the bottle of shower gel, dropping it to the side as she began to scrub at heated red skin with a white-knuckled hand, trying to clean off what she didn't have words for, what she had skimmed across the night before and couldn't deal with, wasn't strong enough to deal with…

She was the lucky one, she hadn't suffered…

-

"I don't want to get out of bed."

"But we have to."

David snorted, a muffled noise into his pillow and Amanda snorted right back, her own voice muffled into his arm. It was rare, for them to still be in bed this late, but that was because they usually had his pager going off or Brooke calling her up, and she intended to stay in bed for as long as humanly possible.

Therefore, she refused to pay attention to the buzzing until David was forced to pull his arm out from beneath her head and lean over her to grab the phone, falling back into the bed with a sigh as he answered it tiredly. Silence for a moment, and then he made a noise that halfway between a growl and a sigh, reaching up to cover his face with one hand. "It doesn't mean anything."

Amanda pulled the covers over her head and swore softly, kicking at the covers until David reached down to grab one ankle, pulling it up so that she couldn't accidentally wound him. "No, Liz— Liz, have you calmed her down yet?" A long moment of silence and Amanda tugged the pillow back down over her head, sighing. "It's called a muscle spasm."

More silence before, with a promise to head over after he got up, David hung up the phone, reaching up to press a palm against his forehead, making that noise again in his throat. "What is it?" she asked, voice muffled, and he made a short shrugging motion, voice flat when he finally replied. "Dixie thinks Martin moved, or— or something."

"Do you think he did?"

"That's impossible to tell," he sighed, and she made a tired noise, rolling around for a moment before peeking at him from beneath her pillow, only her eyes visible as she stared at him, taking in a frown and dark eyes filled with something that worried her. Working her ankle out of his hold, she shifted closer, pressing her face against his ribs, stealing the warmth there, taking what seconds she had before he twisted away, climbing to his feet.

Amanda worried, but then that's what she always did, so she should have gotten used to it by now.

-

He hadn't slept, and was shaking with exhaustion when Bianca let him into her place, looking awful as he did, massive smudges beneath her eyes. A quick glance around proved no sign of Miranda and he flicked a questioning look at Bianca, receiving a short shrug and a flat reply of, "Maggie took her to the park."

Watching her drift around like a wraith left him wanting to ask her who had apparently kicked her dog, but he kept his mouth shut, his morbid amusement dulled by the ache where his heart was supposed to be. "You heard from Kendall yet?" he finally asked, and she gave a brittle little laugh, shaking her head as she fiddled with putting blocks away in a large crate, staring intently at a few as if they held the answers to the universe. "I… I was dealing with some things when I got home last night."

"Yeah… me, too," he muttered, middle twisting in memory of Erica's horrified, desperate tears.

"Of course, the rest of our day had gone so well," she drawled bitterly, and he gave her a sharp look, hating that it stung as much as it did, that she was right and wrong at the same time, and grateful that she didn't understand, that she couldn't understand. "Josh, what did you think, that she'd hear the news and burst into song about it?"

"No, no, of course not—" He stopped abruptly, choking, and smothered down the surge of emotion, knowing that if he gave in, he'd be useless as he had been last night, huddled in his car, sobbing, trying to destroy any love he had left for Greg Madden and only finding him clinging to it more desperately, unwilling to give his father up.

Sins of the father, and all that jazz, Josh supposed.

"What's the matter?" He glanced at her awkwardly, taking in a frown and a stare filled with worry, biting her bottom lip as she held a block to her middle, stance shifting slightly, enough to make him want to dive for the door and run. "Josh?" Again, he pondered running for the door but instead he stood there, body tensing as she dropped the block to the box and moved around the couch, pinning him with an unerringly intense stare. "Oh, god… Josh, did something happen to Mom?"

"No—" He stopped, biting the inside of his cheek at the sudden burst of laughter that threatened to engulf him at the idiocy of that statement, that Erica was fine. After all, women that were fine didn't switch DNA results, and sink into dangerous denials about their state of their children's mental health. But then— "Yeah, something happened to Mom," he muttered raggedly, "and this is what happens years later."

"But is she—"

"No, she's not okay… but she's not in the hospital, and her problem isn't physical, at least not yet."

"Josh—"

"I should have listened to Hazel," he whispered, and she frowned, brow wrinkling as she stared at him in confusion and he swallowed, biting his cheek again, chewing the skin there, and trying to obliterate the emotions warring in him. "She came, and she told me, she told me that he had set it up, and that he had it all planned, and she told me that it wasn't my fault, or anyone else's… she told me that he was so happy with me and how I had turned out—"

"Josh—"

"I didn't listen, I didn't listen… I told Erica, I told her…"

"Josh!"

He stared at her, mute, and she smoothed hands up his arms, gripping his shoulders as she stared at him, and he began to tremble, shivering, horrified by it all, heart cringing away as he saw something shift in dark eyes and then something sharpen. "Oh, god…" He didn't even realize he was crying until he was forced to swipe a palm across suddenly blind eyes, staring through a blur at a face rapidly draining of color as she dug her fingers into his shoulders.

"Josh—"

"I should have listened to Hazel; I never should have let Mom know…"

"Oh, god… oh, god, Josh—"

"What am I going to tell her?"

-

Erin still felt naked and helpless, which in itself wasn't an odd thing for her.

But, it was odd to feel in the mansion, where she had come to feel safest over the last year or so.

Lifting her hair out of the collar of her blouse, she tugged on her jacket and slipped out of her room, pausing on the threshold to listen for anybody before continuing down, body disturbingly tense and tight, emotions clamped down in a way that almost frightened her, leaving her unable to remember when she had last felt this… raw.

Down the stairs, listening to the distant noises of the breakfast normalcy, Colby's usually early morning babbling carrying easily through the house and as she paused at the foot of the stairs, she caught sight of Kate rushing past wearing her pajamas, Winifred in hot pursuit, Kate giggling madly as she dodged the older woman's attempts to catch her.

She waited, silently, for the two females to vanish into the depths of the house before creeping forward, bolting for the door, hoping for no questions, hating that they had all seen her helpless; that these people, of all people, had seen her for what she really was, a failure in everything but existing.

"I feel like I should be playing the 'Mission: Impossible' theme, Red."

She froze with her hand on the knob, closing her eyes and swearing quietly before glancing slowly over her shoulder, swallowing as she was pinned by eyes that were entirely too blue to be legal. "Huh?" she asked dumbly, but JR snorted as he stood, popping the last bit of jammed toast in his mouth and swallowing, staring at her intently. "You're not stupid, so don't act like it," he chirped as he picked up his jacket from the back of the chair he had been sitting in, hidden away until he decided to let her know he had been sitting there.

"You're spying on me?"

"You're my employee."

"But—" There wasn't supposed to be a new fluttering of warmth in the middle at discovering her employer was watching her from the shadows but there it was, a quiet flood of feelings spreading through her stomach and then higher, loosening something that felt dangerous and welcoming at the same time. "But you were spying on me!"

"No, I was making sure you were okay."

"That's the same thing," she whispered heatedly, pressing a palm against her stomach and the sudden way it jumped at how he said 'okay,' as if really was something that was important to him, as if she was really was. "You were spying on me, Mr. Chandler, and there are laws against that."

"Yeah, I know." He pulled on his jacket, scratching his neck as he stared at her harder. "You'll feel better if you cry."

She stared, silently, and he gave a bitter sort of grin, eyes shadowed as he reached forward and swiped hair from her face, tucking it back behind her ears and then sliding a thumb across the skin beneath one eye, wincing slightly. "I remember when I came back in after they took Miranda from me, going up to the nursery… I've never cried so hard in my entire life, felt like I'd never stop."

"I'm fine."

"Yeah, sure you are." He poked at the spot beneath her eye again, frowning. "Your eyes are all swollen; you should take that as a sign." She opened her mouth, shut it, and then made a short confused noise as she smacked his hand away and stepped back abruptly, hugging herself with suddenly trembling hands, feeling something inside her waver dangerously. "I'm fine," she stated, and he exhaled, nodding as he moved past her and opening the door. "You ready?"

"What?"

"Anita Santos dropped you off last night, so you don't have your car—"

"I can call a cab—" She wasn't sure, exactly, why she was suddenly feeling panicked, but she was. They would be in a car, together, and he did things to her, did things to make her edges soften in a way she didn't know how to handle, and she couldn't deal with it now, couldn't deal with her edges softening because she needed to be hard, she needed to—

Erin couldn't be weak right now.

"You need to stay with Little A," she babbled and he shrugged, still waiting for her, staring at her expectantly, and she had the sudden feeling that it would take sudden death, or some kind of massive tractor to pull him away right now, that she would be escaping this mansion over his dead body.

Again, there was that feeling coiling inside her, hazy warmth laced through with a sudden blaze of white-hot heat.

"JR…"

"If you're leaving, you're leaving with me."

The ground was suddenly unsteady and she locked her arms around herself, fingers tightening in the cloth of her jacket, shaken by how certain he looked that he was going to win this argument, and it should have frightened her, because her mother's will had been brutal, shrieks and sobs when she drank, blaming her suffering on her children and confused when they ended up hating her.

This wasn't brutal, this was steady, the way he stared at her, stripping her of her defenses until, with a tiny noise like an exhausted animal, she trudged forward, stepping past him and heading to his car, listening to him close the door behind him, and feeling him follow her, knowing with another sharp burst of heat inside her that if she threw herself to the ground right now, he'd catch her before she hit the concrete.

Frightening, how much it made her heart tremble in response.

-

Jackson Montgomery hadn't slept a solid night of sleep in over a year, and he didn't expect to start any time soon.

What sleep he did have was brittle, and cold, leaving him more exhausted when he woke, worn down by the constant pounding of his fears, his desire to protect his children, denying his instincts to head back to help his other children, those he had left in Pine Valley, forced to make a decision he didn't want to make, choosing between his children.

But he had been forced, and so he had chosen.

Didn't mean he was able to deal with his choice, however much it had been needed at the time.

So many years had been focused on Erica, on loving her, on giving her what he had, anything he had. Somehow, though the years, he had forgotten how it had felt not to have her there, her brilliant smiles hiding her scars, her brittle strength holding her up when anyone else would have crumbled beneath the weight of it all.

Brittle and brilliant and beautiful, and he didn't know how to not love her anymore, had forgotten what it felt like not to love her.

"Teeny thinks the Martians are coming, too."

Jack looked up from his work, found Reggie staring at him intently, brows wrinkled with worry, and he graced his son with an entirely fake smile, a frozen grimace that was an echo of what his real grins had always been. "I'm fine," he added, and Reggie gave him a look—what most people would term The Look—and Jack gave him the insincere grin again, trying and failing to offer comfort.

"You look like you're being electrocuted, J."

"I've been busy."

"This isn't busy, I know how you look when you're busy; this is some kind of zombie state."

Reggie was right, of course; didn't mean Jack had to admit it, though.

"I'm fine," Jack repeated, and was grateful when his son gave a short snort and leaned back, flicking buttons on the remote control, apparently deciding that bugging Jack would only add to the older man's always mounting stress, and they both had enough to worry about without the doctor calling them up and nagging Jack to calm down so his blood pressure would ease.

"You could always call her."

Jackson didn't look up, didn't allow himself to, simply kept up his research, a never-ending obsession to find some kind of loophole because they knew this wouldn't last forever, knew that one of these days somebody would come, knowing what had happened and wanting justice to be done…

Time, he just needed time… the one thing they seemed to be running out of…


	33. Chapter 33

_Today is gonna be the day  
That they're gonna throw it back to you  
By now you should've somehow  
Realized what you gotta do  
I don't believe that anybody  
Feels the way I do about you now _

Backbeat the word was on the street  
That the fire in your heart is out  
I'm sure you've heard it all before  
But you never really had a doubt  
I don't believe that anybody feels  
The way I do about you now

_And all the roads that lead to you were winding  
And all the lights that light the way are blinding  
There are many things that I would like to say to you  
I don't know how_

_- Oasis, 'Wonderwall'_

_-_

_Chapter Thirty-Three_

_-_

_Bianca was trying to do what she thought was best and Zach couldn't help but hate her for that, at least a little bit._

_It was odd, feeling such fury for the fine-boned young woman in front of him, the girl who had such striking resemblance to Kendall, but there it was, a fluttering of white-hot hate that she was trying, so hard, and refused to listen to him when he told her to leave, to get out, to stop her crusade._

_Edie had failed to scare her, which said more than it didn't; Edie scared everyone, when she decided that she wanted to._

_There was too much of Kendall there, too much of her in her face and it only made it harder to try to corral her out of his office, try to shoo her out. Even standing and trying to intimidate her out of there with his size was proving to be impossible and so he instead tried not to listen, tried not to care._

_Impossible, though, because this was Bianca._

"_Bianca, you have no part of this—"_

"_Kendall is my sister, and I need you to talk with her."_

"_It's none of your business—"_

"_Kendall is my business, Zach, and if she loves you, than you are also my business, and while you may not care—" Here her voice got dark and her eyes darker, displaying what she thought of what she saw as his cowardice in how he was handling the aftermath of the last year or so, "—I sure as Hell do."_

"_Kendall's strong, she can handle this."_

"_But she shouldn't have to," the girl snapped, voice edged, and he winced at it inwardly, seeing that connection to her sister and mother, that extra strength that so many women seemed to hide away out of some attempt to make themselves better, something he'd never understood._

_What kind of man wanted a woman without any life in her?_

_Even his father, twisted though he had become when it came to what he saw as his possessions, his wife and children, he had always had a fascination for the strongest women he could find, and Zach knew for a fact that, however cruel he had always been, Alexander Cambias had never once slept around behind his wife's back._

_The fact that he had killed her long before her heart had stopped beating…_

"_Bianca—"_

"_You need to talk to her—"_

"_We have nothing else to say—"_

"_I don't care, Zach. I don't care if your last words to each other were to 'fuck off and die,' which I seriously doubt, by the way, every instinct I have is telling me to make you two talk." Catching his carefully blank look, she exhaled and tightened her hands into fists, stating with an obvious attempt to be calm, "Something like what the two of your shared cannot be resolved in a few minutes of conversation and a cold shoulder, I know that from experience."_

-

Edie was angry with him, and he felt it as soon as he stepped into the casino, her disappointment that he was coming in to work when she apparently thought he had more important things to do. She came in once, slamming his breakfast tray down and then striding back out without a word, leaving him to suffer from the weight of his demons.

The only things that never left him, he had found.

Zach knew where he wanted to go, knew, felt it, trembled with it but it didn't matter because this was what happened when he did, when he made choices he couldn't take back, decisions that couldn't be undone and taken roads he couldn't come back from, this level of devastation wearing at him until he was hollowed out by it.

He looked up, startled, when Edie stepped in, an odd look on her face as she stilled under his gaze. "What?" he finally asked raggedly, and she pursed her lips, smoothing a palm down her skirt before exhaling harshly and stating in an odd tone, "Di Henry's here to see you, Mr. Slater."

-

Jonathon had spent a lot of his time in hospitals—didn't mean he had ever gotten used to them.

A lot of things about the places upset him, stressed him, left him trembling, but he had long ago decided it was the smell he hated the worst, the absence of anything _right_, anything he could recognize from the existence that he had finally accepted was his life. But there was nothing, an overwhelming sense of death that permeated you after only the smallest visit inside.

Smells, of medicine and too much hygiene, panicked him more than most things.

He knew that he had spent time in the mental hospital, but he didn't have many memories of that time—but what he did have were the objects of his nightmares, mingling in with booze-drenched breath smothering him and hands that broke him apart as easily as if he was some toy, shattering him into pieces and laughing all the while.

Days spent staring at a wall, listening to his blood flow in his veins, praying for it to end, praying for it to stop; bitter pills that went down rough because his throat worked against him, trying to gag them up, mistaking medication for poison that he'd never actually taken but tasted in the middle of the night; good-natured guards who went out of their way to be gentle with him, picking up on something impossibly fragile under the surface but still left him shaking, waiting for the worst things he can imagine, the worst things he knows exists.

Jonathon hated hospitals, always had.

The fact that he's here, now, while things in his head come undone… it was more than he could bear.

Every time he glanced out the window, he could make out Jamie's shape pacing worriedly, an added weight to everything else pressing down on Jonathon's back, more confusion and something else, something that felt too much like hope to be able to take, a bittersweet kind of desperate hope that, if he could just be good enough, he'd be able to be happy.

But he didn't deserve it, so it shouldn't be possible.

-

Skye considered herself a Chandler, but it was still intimidating to stare up at the building before her, heart beating wildly in her chest with recognition, finding her sense of self wavering faintly beneath the weight of her emotions and she swallowed, tightening her hold on her bag before she cautiously moved closer, raising one hand and then freezing again, searching for some kind of courage.

She was a Chandler, and a Quartermaine, damn it, she wasn't supposed to be five seconds away from peeing her pants.

She could do this—

Or she could go running back to her car and run back to Port Charles, she thought wildly, glancing over her shoulder at her car with a frantic panic, swallowing convulsively as she shifted from foot to foot, half-wishing she had Lila in her arms but she hadn't, she'd left her with Myrtle because the last thing she needed was to give Dad a stroke with his new granddaughter just a little while before his one millionth wedding.

Dad…

With a long quiet sound in her middle, she brought her fist down on the door twice and then stepped back, trembling slightly as she smoothed a hand down her clothes, sure that she looked like something the cat dragged in. but when it opened, revealing Winnie's excited face, a knot in her middle eased, loosened, eyes getting blurry as she slipped into the mansion, and, god, just like that…

Home, ready and waiting for her to come back…

A good amount of the interior decorating had changed, been updated, but the house was the same, big and protective in a way few houses could be, filled up with her life, parts of her that she had never been able to find after leaving Pine Valley, even after she had found a new life with a new family who loved her even as they attacked each other.

The Quartermaines, she had come to decide over the years, weren't all that different from the Chandlers—

"Skye?"

-

Without hope, you die.

With hope, though…

It had been hard enough for Dixie to calm herself down but then, heading back to the hospital room—

It wasn't supposed to be like this, not between her and her son, but it was, smiling at each other like nervous business associates, not even sure enough of each other to fumble over a short conversation about the weather. She'd bumped into him as he watched Erin dart away, and stood gawking like an idiot while he opened and closed his mouth a few times dumbly before finally settling on a dull comment about how nice she looked.

It wasn't supposed to be like this, none of it.

"How's Colby?" she finally forced herself to ask with fake cheerfulness, and he grinned awkwardly back, shrugging, only half his attention on her. "Fine, fine… she's been setting up some kind of celestial… something… I don't know, it has rocks and crystals and probably some kind of dancing… or something…"

"Oh…"

"I think she's… planning something…"

"Yeah, you just said—"

"No, I mean, Chandler kind of planning but… but I'm not that worried, dad and I can handle her, at least for right now…"

"Won't last for long, though—"

"No, no, of course not…"

Dixie wondered, tiredly, if the conversation sounded as stupid to anyone else as it did to herself, and shifted awkwardly, threading fingers through blonde hair to brush it back from her face. It all felt wrong, felt like they were strangers, and she hated it, hated it every bit as much as the fact that Tad was in that bed and would never come back to them.

"Where is he?!" And there came Erin Lavery around the corner, face flushed with emotion and body shaking, looking not unlike a frightened little girl in a shape not her own. "You can't let somebody like him just go missing, what the hell is wrong with you people?!" she added in a broken voice, spinning and slamming a hand into an orderly chest, lower lip beginning to tremble the slightest bit. "He shouldn't be able to just vanish!"

-

Erin was near hysterical, and Jamie envied her for it.

She was allowed to be hysterical for her brother, especially now, but he wasn't, not really. He wanted to lock down the hospital, send out troops and track down the other man before he could hurt himself but he had no right to, because, other than the fact that he didn't have any troops, he also wasn't family.

He was just the guy who lived with Jonathon, albeit, he also happened to be the best friend.

What if he had broken Jonathon, when he had… done that… thing?

Unless, of course, Jonathon had actually been the one to start… the thing?

Or, wait, had it been a shared… thing?

Jamie Martin was beginning to fear for his sanity, and this was just pushing him further down that road that ended in nice looking men in white coats who wanted him to swallow down the pretty colored pills. He had never really been worried about Babe, he had finally come to realize, but this was fear, real panic, because Jonathon wasn't just capable of hurting himself and others, he had done it before.

"We have to find him," Erin snapped for the fifth time and Jamie nodded furiously in wordless agreement, shaking from the worry building up in him, strangling him, smothering him. Dixie had stood around for several moments, finally sliding one arm around him and giving him a scarily understanding look before heading back to his father's room.

"I already have the guards looking for him," Jo commented tiredly, looking much older than she was as she ran a hand over his face. "I don't think we're going to find him here, I think we all know how much he hates being here," she added and Erin closed her eyes, shaking her head as she turned away and started pacing again, leaving JR to watch her worriedly while seeing what all he could do to help Joanna.

"He wouldn't go back to the apartment," Jamie finally blurted, blanching when he realized how useless the words sounded and falling silent instead, stuffing his hands into his jean pockets absently. "He wouldn't go any place where we could easily find him," Jo sighed more raggedly, adding in a worn tone, "and wherever he goes, he's going to hide out there for a while."

"Yeah, I know," Erin whispered heatedly, lip beginning it's faint trembling again and JR settled his hand on her shoulder, stilling her restless motions and pulling her back slightly against him, and again, Jamie found himself envying her, because damn it, he felt completely useless, powerless, and he wasn't used to it, not at all.

Jamie would rather be confused than this kind of terrified.


	34. Chapter 34

_Notes: Whenever I write the character of Derek Frye, I always write him as played by William Christian— always. Also, writing the Maggie scenes hit close to home, blame that for the wait... _

-

Oh no, I see  
A spider web is tangled up with me  
And I lost my head  
And thought of all the stupid things I'd said

Oh no, what's this?  
A spider web and I'm caught in the middle  
So I turned to run  
And thought of all the stupid things I'd done

And I never meant to cause you trouble  
And I never meant to do you wrong  
Ah, well if I ever caused you trouble  
Oh no, I never meant to do you harm

- Coldplay, 'Trouble'

-

Chapter Thirty-Four

-

It was an actual accident, the first time Ryan and Di had sex.

Not an accident in the usual use of the word, granted— she didn't trip and fall on him, and would never say such a stupid thing. But it was an accident, a sudden thing that they couldn't control, and they had to admit, later on, that they didn't really try all that hard. She had been laughing, looking not unlike a drowned rat, and it was a real laugh.

He had forgotten what it sounded like.

He had owed Di, after her help revealing Zach for the controlling son-of-a-bitch he was, and when she came to him, wanting his help in finding Kate, finding her niece, he had stepped up— he hadn't understood, at first, but after Dixie was revealed to be not as dead as the world had thought she was, he understood.

He had been happy, the first few months after Kendall entered his life again completely—and for a while, he had thought that he would get it, get what he hadn't gotten the chance to before. But Di was there, a fragile but still strong woman with crystal eyes and a smile that made him come undone around the edges and she trusted him and she didn't ask him to be anything more than the messed-up man he was.

And he laughed at her stupid jokes while she tried to wash away her sins by getting her niece back to Tad and Dixie.

They didn't make love the first time— even if they were already close, straddling that dangerous edge, it wasn't love… not yet.

Two months before Tad was shot, before Madden was murdered, they screwed in the backseat of his car, a messy thing of awkwardly twisted body parts and noisy breathing. It wasn't perfect, and it was rough in a fine way, and when she came with a noise like a dry sob, he had held her tighter, clinging to her like a lifeline.

They drove back to civilization in silence, and didn't talk for weeks, and he hated himself for wanting her again.

A month before that night in the clinic, they went again, a bit softer but just as messy, in the garage of his penthouse, her fingers digging into his back and him happily drowning in the scent of her. They later sat on the concrete in silence, his back stinging and her eyes wide and dazed, and agreed wordlessly that they needed to not let this happen.

He had been waiting outside the hospital the night they brought Tad in.

That night they had Dixie taken away in handcuffs with Tad's blood still on her as she cried for them to take care of him and make sure he woke up okay. Erin had needed him to drive her there— Chandler called in the middle of the night, wondering if she could swing by with donuts and bad coffee while they held their silent vigil— and when she had disappeared with her survival gifts, there had been Di, looking very small and very helpless and extremely broken.

He drove her home, but they made love in the front seat of the car, heated skin and bruising tenderness, and when she stretched out in his lap and cried herself to sleep, he had let her. She didn't get into her own bed until the next morning, and he had walked around sore from sleeping in a bad angle for a week, but he enjoyed it.

Real, and not something that could be so easily twisted by fear and panic.

They both knew that was the night that really mattered, and they avoided each other, tried to, but it didn't work. Within weeks, their meetings became a schedule, and they fell into it happily. Sex wasn't just sex— it wasn't like the empty thing he found himself having with Kendall, rushing through it in an attempt to finish— it was touch and it was taste and it was sound and it was color and it was the way she breathed against his skin when she began to peak.

It wasn't until the night that he started wondering what it would be like to raise Chris with her that he finally understood.

Ryan wanted Di, but he wanted to win more; win what, he didn't know, but he wanted to win.

Ryan only dug himself deeper, and pulled her in along with him, crying his name. 

-

Zach had liked Di, even after she had betrayed him.

There was something achingly familiar about her, in ways he couldn't quite define, and was almost afraid to. She was a delicate creature, anybody could see that, but it took looking closer to find that spine she kept hidden in an attempt to hide it. She had been neglected, both during and after her childhood, and he felt it the way he felt things that really mattered.

Recognized it, even.

Sitting in the chair before his desk, she looked small and very helpless, and like she hadn't slept well in quite some time. He'd offered to have Edie grab her something, but she'd babbled that she was fine and didn't need anything, that she wasn't hungry. And then she'd sat in silence for long minutes, twisting her hands and looking like she might break at any moment.

He was so sick of that look in somebody's eyes.

"Di, is there something you need?"

She smoothed trembling palms against the denim of her jeans, offering him a tremulous smile that made his chest tighten. Yes, he was sick of that look, and now actively hated it. "I hate that it got started," she blurted out suddenly, voice breaking, "but it did, and I didn't say no, and it felt right, right down to my bones and— He says that he can love me."

"I'm not sure I can help you, Di, I'm not even your boss anymore—"

"I've been having an affair with Ryan Lavery," she whispered, and as he stared, completely speechless for only the third time in his life, she burst into hysterical sobs, as if she was being shredded from the inside out. Zach's heart did something odd in his chest, a sort of flip into itself that he'd never quite felt before. He pushed that feeling aside hastily, not able to deal with it, trying to get a handle on the one he could— the sobbing woman in front of him.

He hated when women cried, and always had— it made him feel small and helpless and as if he was completely useless to do anything to help. Even the smallest tremble, or the way the eyes filled with tears, twisted up his gut into knots and by the time the first tears began to slide down a woman's cheeks, he felt like that kid in a hospital again, waiting for that noise to turn into a heartbeat again.

She couldn't take the tissues he tried to hand to her, so he was finally forced to push her back in the chair and crouch, grabbing her hand and shaking it, something that worked with some women when they got this bad. It would startle them, sometimes, into a less lung-damaging kind of cry, and he could usually deal with her then, or at least try to.

It worked now, at least slightly, the fragile-looking blonde hitching violently enough to make him wince in sympathy, and then collapsing again into tiny sobs that were nonetheless calmer than her previous noises, staring at him with blood-shot eyes, tissues caught uselessly in her white-knuckled fists. "Di—"

This wasn't working.

He felt vaguely automaton, straightening and walking to the small fridge in the back of his office that held water and a tiny selection of old take-out, a fridge that Edie was never even allowed into— she always took his take-out, insisting that it was old and not good, even though it looked perfectly safe to him.

Just because she wasn't allowed, of course, didn't stop her from cleaning out, something he saw when he jerked it open, finding it full of water, the chicken teriyaki that he'd left in there several days before missing again. Deciding that he would talk to her later, he snatched a bottle of water and twisted it open, walking back to her.

The tissues weren't perfect, but they were enough and when he pressed the handful of chilled wet paper against her face, she jerked and gasped but didn't fight back, instead slumping rather weakly back in her chair. Her face felt hot, and he frowned unhappily, splashing a bit of the cold liquid onto her face, heart jerking at every small hitch she gave. "You need to calm down," he snapped raggedly, and she gave a shaky but sure nod, enough to make his chest loosen the smallest bit.

"You okay in here?"

He glanced up, found Edie standing in a slightly dangerous stance, eyes on Di, and nodded hastily, catching her look. She had picked up on it early on, the way his mood when she shifted when he caught sight of a teary female, and had refrained from ever breaking down in front of him except for after that particular loss.

He hadn't been okay, when she'd clung to him and sobbed as if her life was ending, but he had let her, had understood that he was the only one in the world she would cling to at a time like that. He'd held her as well as he could, refraining from making stupid comments like 'it'll be okay, it'll be fine,' and let her break with him as her anchor.

He'd learned to deal with crying women, but he'd never stopped panicking inside, never stopped twisting when he saw the tears.

"Do you need anything?"

He opened his mouth, but Di shook her head, shaking but calmer than she had looked since she had actually walked into the office nearly a half an hour before. "I'm fine, I'm fine, really, I just need to talk to Zach," she added in a cracking voice, and Edie nodded, slowly, giving Zach one last look that promised rescue if he needed it before slipping away again.

"Di—"

"I'm fine," she breathed, voice catching but vaguely steady. She held the bottle tightly in her hands, pressing it against her face once or twice as he straightened and leaned back against the desk, trying to get his feet back under him again, trying to figure out why he felt so odd, like a puppet trying to move through his tangled strings. "You and Lavery…?" he coaxed, and she flinched, very slightly, nodding weakly.

"I know people say it all the time but… but I didn't mean it, in the beginning…" She rewet the tissues, pressing them against her eyes, and she was a tiny ball of motion, shifting and fidgeting and shaking. "I mean, I knew what I was doing, but— but it didn't feel wrong, not that, and when it did feel wrong, it was when I thought about—" Her lip trembled again, and he indicated the bottle quickly, grateful when she obeyed and took a swallow. "Kendall's mother called him in the middle of the night, when he was… when he was with me and he left real quick, saying that he needed to handle business and—"

"And he was married when he came back."

"Had a wedding ring and everything," she laughed in a sob-choked voice and he set a hand on her shoulder, in some vague attempt to keep her calm, keep her steady, keep her all there because he needed to know these things. "We've been… sneaking around, lying… and—" She looked up at him, and she looked unspeakably hollow. "He says that he loves me."

-

Bianca wasn't answering her calls.

Finally snapping the phone closed, Maggie shoved it back into her bag and shifted her full attention back to Miranda, galloping around the park full speed, and reminding Maggie strongly of a small poodle who had wriggled out of her leash. She looked happy, though, which was nothing to be depressed about.

Maggie steadfastly refused to think about St. Babe and her still-functioning cult.

Instead, she forced herself to focus on Miranda, the little girl who had no love for Babe and never would, despite what Bianca seemed to think. She seemed to remember JR's time raising her, at least to a certain extent—Maggie had lost count of how many times the little girl would dart away and run to see him when she happened to spot him in public.

She never ran to Babe, though, something that Maggie always felt almost painfully grateful for.

Exhaling, wrapping arms around herself, Maggie took a seat on the bench, eyes glued to Miranda, running up into the playhouse and then sliding down, shrieking at the top of her lungs, only to run back around and do it again. She rarely got to stay this long, and was taking full advantage of Maggie's stalling when it came to going back home.

Bianca, High Priestess of the St. Babe Cult… it was too much for Maggie to handle right now.

It was bad enough that she was hanging around Babe again, but that she had lied about it? She had gone out of her way to keep Maggie from knowing and now that she had— phone calls in the middle of the night; random excuses to disappear for a day or so, leaving Maggie to fret that something was wrong. She was sick and tired of the lies— Babe's lies, and the ones people created for the brainless little blonde.

"Maggie?"

She jumped about a mile, jerking back into complete awareness with a painful wrench of her consciousness, twisting in the seat to find Jonathon staring at her looking—

Jonathon didn't look well, and even if she didn't immediately spot the hospital band around one wrist under the jacket sleeve, the warning bells would have gone off. He looked worse than he had when she had come back to town, when they had talked, when Jamie had followed her in some guilt-fueled attempt to protect her and ended up knocking him out with a can of paint.

He looked worse, which shouldn't have been possible considering how awful he had looked that day.

But he looked bad, completely out of it and not wholly there. She shifted, something that felt vaguely like recognition twanging in her mind like a warning hum as she stood and turned half her attention to him, aware of the constant movement of Miranda some feet away. It wasn't a good position but Miranda was good at staying put— Jon in one of his bad spells really wasn't good at anything.

And if anyone knew about one of his bad spells, it was her.

"What are you doing?"

"Walking," he muttered, and shifted like a nervous little boy, eyes leaving her and flicking warily across the scattering of mothers along the outside edges of the park. He took a tiny step back and she quickly darted forward, grabbing his jacket sleeve and leaning her weight back, keeping him there. "Jon, you don't look okay."

"I'm fine, I don't need anything," he blurted out immediately, twisting his arm slightly but not completely making any real attempt to get away. He was bigger than her, and was extremely good at using what strength he had, and seeing him try to twist away like a frightened child wasn't as pleasing as it should have been to the woman he had once used for a punching bag.

He wasn't looking at her, he was looking through her, or—

It came again, that uneasy twang of something she didn't have a word for, a sick familiarity grinding against her spine. She clamped her teeth closed against her first thought, to offer to get him something to eat; he never seemed to take that offer well, would go off and accuse you of trying to slip him something. Instead— "You want to sit with me?" she asked lightly, tossing her head back to the bench, and he shook his head, somehow looking even more out of it, trying to twist away with more panic. "No, I don't want to sit, I don't want to, okay?"

"Okay!" she babbled quickly, and shifted her hold on his sleeve, keeping it firm but not as tight. "Okay, we'll just stand here," she added, nodding, and he gave her a wary look, as if she was going to try something. "I can let you go, but you stay standing there, okay?" When he nodded, she cautiously let go, letting out a breath of relief when he took a step back, out of reach, but didn't leave.

Not completely there, but not all gone, either.

"Did you have a nightmare?" she asked, and he shook his head, his attention once again focused on the women scattered around the park, finally settling on a mother and her son in a way that made Maggie's stomach flip-flop in her middle, made something bitter light at the back of her throat.

It was familiar, and the fear skimming across the back of his gaze bought memories of years before rushing back in a painful ache, Bianca's panic in the dorm flaring with white-hot remembrance. "It's okay," she murmured carefully, achingly grateful for the fact that Miranda was still singing at the top of her lungs as she played, and she nodded very slowly when he gave her a worriedly wary look. "It's fine," she continued more quietly, showing her hands quickly, "I won't make you do anything you don't want to do, okay?"

"That's a lie," he snapped, and she showed her hands again, smiling as gently as she could. "No, Jon, it's okay, you're okay—"

"No, I'm not," he mumbled and, staring at him, taking in the way he watched the woman and little boy some feet away with a sick feeling of realization blooming in her stomach, she was forced to bitterly agree that he was not, in fact, okay. She thought of things, of weird moments when she had been with him, and was nearly sick.

No, he was not okay.

-

Kendall had dated the letters.

Zach's name on the outside of each envelope and her scratched out date in the top corner of her letter, a timeline of her fall since the previous February. Some made no sense, none, and meant nothing, and Josh set those aside with careful wariness, as if they might bite him, or do him damage.

"This is wrong," Bianca mumbled beside him, and he worked not to look at her, her heart bleeding under the weight of Greg's sin against their sister. She didn't look there, completely, and he was sure that if it was possible to be caught in a nightmare, she was the one there.

Her, and Erica.

The Kane women didn't have a legacy; they had a fucked-up curse that went from mother to daughter to sister.

And Josh's heart bled from the realization of it.

He couldn't deal with this, couldn't deal with who Chris was, it was too much for him, and so he pushed it away, focused instead on the letters that he had stolen from her penthouse with Lavery, and if any of the letters hurt him too deeply, he could fold them up and push them away.

"'Dear Zach, I hate you. I hope you rot in Hell, with your brother and your father. Kendall.'"

"What's the date?" Bianca asked, and he showed it to her, a massively empty piece of paper filled with just a line or two and dated neatly, in the corner, 'March 16, 2006.' He folded it, and put it to the side, grabbing the next, tearing open the envelope and pulling out the slip of folded paper. "'Dear Zach, the baby kicked, and I hated it. I hate you, and I hope you rot in Hell.'" He winced, tapped the date warily— 'March 26, 2006.'

"She couldn't possibly have written these…" Bianca murmured, but she didn't mean it— they both recognized Kendall's neat but elegant script, slightly fragile around the edges but completely her. "What about that one?" she asked, pointing at one in a slightly worn envelope and he popped it open, drawing the paper out quickly. "Hey, it's about me."

"Do I look like I care?" she snapped weakly, pushing at his knee, nodding to it. "Just read the stupid thing."

"'Dear Zach, I have a brother, so now I have two. One who got out of jail and completely forgot about me, and now another one— and he has Bianca's eyebrows, I can't believe I never saw the resemblance.'" Josh stopped, glancing at the date, vaguely uneasy about the way her mood had shifted between March and June of that year. "'He thinks that just because he's my brother, he can run around and tell me how to live my life even though I am still the oldest. Chris is always around, I can't get away from him, and I hate him.'"

"Maybe it was postpartum depression," Bianca whispered from beside him, and Josh swallowed, quickly folding it and cramming it back into the envelope, shaken. She probably wasn't all wrong, and had suspected as such for a while after Chris' birth, just because he had seen it before as Greg Madden's son— but Kendall had refused to take his advice, and Erica had laughed at the mere suggestion of it.

But it had gone on too long, and this was too… this was too much, just for that.

Josh thought of Chris, of who Chris was, and, pushing past Bianca, nearly tripping, he barely made it to the bathroom in time.

-

Zach felt odd, but ignored it, arranging the pieces of what he knew against what he didn't, studying the understanding he felt sinking down, with painful wariness, into his bone, buzzing through his blood. He stared at Di, taking in the pained woman with the too-sad gaze, and while he felt he needed to hate her, he couldn't.

He recognized the look of self-loathing too well to hate her.

"Boss, I have to go."

Di jerked, wrenching so hard he pitied her delicate bones as he raised his head from his study, finding Edie—

He felt a wave of pity for whoever had lit her up, taking in the tight stance and horrifically steady gaze, something filled with fire and brimstone and the feeling of standing before a grizzly with the realization that you happen to smell like salmon. He swallowed, blinked, and pushed off the desk, aware of Di's frightened look at Edie. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," she stated in a calm tone that could have shattered glass with its nuance of fury. She fiddled with the lapels of her blazer, staring through him and no doubt at the current object of her ire. "I'll be at the police station the next few hours, so if you need anything, just call me."

"Who's—"

"I've already put Gwen out there, and I'll owe her."

"Why—"

"I have to go bail my daughter out of jail," she snapped, and he barely refrained from letting his mouth drop open, no matter how serious the current issue with Di was. "Tracy's in trouble?" he asked quietly and a muscle in her jaw twitched as she looked back at him. "Not yet, but she will be."

And then she was gone, a wary silence filling the office before Di's cautious murmur came— "She's scary."

"Yes, she is," he agreed quietly, glancing back at Di, aware of how things felt around them. He felt vaguely like he walking a tightrope, like he was trying to find a balance that refused to come. There was something, through, something he couldn't quite explain on any complete level.

But it was there.

"When did it start?"

"I don't… I don't know when it… when its started but, we were together, the first time, just before April…" She stared down at her shoes, and he winced, wishing she didn't look like she was ready to sacrifice herself on some altar. It took two people to cheat, and she wasn't alone in this.

She shouldn't be punished alone, in this.

-

"You brought me coffee?"

JR gave her a blankly helpless look, and with a wince, Erin took it from him, swallowing slightly as her fingers brushed his before she jerked her hand, and his offering of caffeine back to herself. "Thank you," she finally murmured, feeling rather foolish, and then feeling even more foolish when she realized his mother was staring at her intently.

Oh, great, just what she—

"What's the matter?" he asked, still standing dangerously—wonderfully—close and looking almost painfully worried about her, blue eyes softer than he probably wanted them to be. "Nothing," she managed, barely keeping from spitting the steaming hot liquid back out again at the sudden heat of it. "I'm fine," she added, far too aware of the fact that his mother was stripping her open and looking deep.

Shit, if she knew—

"Did Jo find him yet?" she blurted nervously, eyes settling thoughtfully on Jamie's massive form, pacing back and forth through the room, a deep and worried expression on his face, hands stuffed angrily in his jeans pocket. "I mean, I should be out there, looking with everyone—"

"No, you need to be here, because he'll need you when he gets back." When he set a palm on her back, it made her jump beneath her skin, heart skipping a few beats before she got herself steady again, aware of the fact that it seemed to be getting harder. "I don't know what's going on," he added, and the way he looked at her did more of those scary things to her. "And I'm not going to push but I know you're the best when it comes to dealing with him."

"I need a refill," she whispered weakly, pushing the cup into his hand, his other hand burning through her cloths. She wanted to lean back, wanted him to keep her steady, wanted to rest long enough to get her breath back—and damn if him touching her didn't make all those wants get stronger.

He gave her a look, and she nearly swallowed her tongue, dropping her head to study her shoes as he drifted away, looking oddly annoyed, brows furrowed. Jonathon was out there, somewhere, drowning because she wasn't strong enough, and all she could think about was the fact that her boss's hand was on her.

"You're such a fucking joke, Erin," she whispered, heatedly, blinking back a sudden sheen of tears, not sure what had brought them on and hating them. She had called Ryan, like an idiot, actually thinking he might come and help, and he hadn't even answered and Jon was out there and her body was doing things that she didn't want it to do and—

She couldn't even trust her body anymore.

"I think you should sit down."

She yanked her shaking walls up tightly, more viciously, gritting her teeth when they threatened to buckle. When she finally turned, finding Dixie staring at her with an emotion she couldn't name, she was shaking with the force of what she was trying to keep tamped down, smothering down to keep herself going.

It had never hurt so much, keeping herself under control.

"I'm fine."

"You don't look fine." Dixie looked worn around her edges, but she was still beautiful, fair and lovely, blonde and blue-eyed, and she had JR's eyes, right down the broken bitterness in the back of them. "You look like you're about to pass out," she added, nodding slowly, as if Erin might bite her if she moved too fast.

Well, shit— Erin didn't want her to think she wanted to bite her—

"I don't bite—" she choked out with a forced laugh, and jerked when Dixie set a hand on her arm, squeezing very gently. "Erin, sweetie, I think you should sit, and take a breather—" She sounded worried, like she cared, like Erin mattered in the grand scheme of things as something more than Jonathon's shield against the world. "I'm fine, really—"

She suddenly didn't feel fine, though— there was a painful tightness in her chest, something familiar that she hadn't felt in years, since she'd walked into her mother's room and run out with a shriek, since she'd gotten the call that Jon was in the hospital because he wasn't all there, because he was hearing voices. "Erin?"

Odd, how she couldn't quite breathe anymore, how the air didn't want to come into her lungs—

"Erin, sweetie—"

Wait, she couldn't breathe—

Thirty seconds later, her eyes rolled back in her head and her knees buckled, the tightness breaking with a sudden shudder as her control broke and she dropped, unconscious even before she dragged Dixie down to the ground and JR caught her at the last second, catching enough of her weight that she didn't crack her head against the tiles.

It was a small blessing, in the life of Erin Gail Lavery.

-

Edie was a woman of organization.

She had been that way since before her family could remember, and it never changed— her childhood had been happy enough and when her mother died, it hadn't been a shock, since they knew she was going months in advance. They'd gotten their goodbyes, and been able to move forward, without any overly traumatic moments behind them.

Edie didn't believe in failure; only that sometimes success might take longer than you might want it to.

Edie had calmly put herself through college, refusing to even consider failure, working two jobs while her father handled the kids and kept up the house, and now, in her late thirties and with an impressive amount of financial power beneath her belt, the family she had left in Vegas— a father and five younger siblings, never went wanting.

Most of the time, in fact, her teenage daughter happened to actually be sane, unlike every other teenage girl in the world.

Edie was a woman of organization.

Therefore, when she walked into police chief Frye's office to find what had to be the most horrific looking mess she had ever encountered, her heart actually wrenched dangerously in her chest, her hand flying up to her neck as she swayed on her feet, wide-eyed and stunned.

Frye stared at her from behind the wreckage of a desk, mouthful of stir-fry hanging out of his mouth, chop-sticks frozen half-way back to the carton, looking not unlike a child with his hand caught in the cookie jar. "Oh, my God," she hissed, a stack of file folders slowly sliding off the desk to scatter across the floor, apparently disturbed by the air coming in through the open door. "Did the alarm go off, when the tornado went through?!"

"Tornado?" he mumbled around the stir-fry, and she snapped into a straight stance, giving him the full force of her glare, getting the right reaction when he choked on his food and dropped the carton into his lap, struggling to get his feet off the desk and to the floor, knocking more objects down to the scuffed tiles.

She stepped more into the room, only to grab the doorframe again when her heel stepped on a slip of paper wrong, and she nearly fell on her ass. "This has got to be a joke, Fatty; it's a joke, right?" When he just stared, blankly, she snapped more viciously, "Tell me the police chief does not live in this pigsty."

"I don't; I just work here."

"Oh, God…"

"No, Ma'am, I'm chief Frye, get it right."

Oh, God, she got a comedian…

It was the last thing Edie needed— not only did she have to deal with Zach, and she had no idea how to approach him right now after her first attempts had yielded so few results, she also had to deal with Tracy's one-in-a-million moments of teenage stupidity, when she gave up her brain cells for no understandable reason Edie could find.

Tracy had such a good brain, it made no sense that she didn't use it, damn it.


	35. Chapter 35

_You're like me  
We're both alone  
What's the problem  
I don't know  
With the same high  
The same eyes_

I let the snow  
Melt in my mouth  
Until my head hurts  
Until I'm out  
Makes me laugh a bit  
Makes me cry  
Same way you confuse me all the time

Bad things  
Dead things  
Sad things have to happen

- Emiliana Torrini, 'Dead Things'

-

Chapter Thirty-Five

-

The world, a thing of sharp edges and cutting angles, felt fuzzy now that her mind had gone still.

Tucked into the corner of his couch, listening to the silence filling his home, she closed her eyes and waited for the haze to go away, fade back into the din that she was aware of in the back of her mind. It was quiet here, but it wasn't, and the emotions under the surface continued to crash up against her walls, leaving the sureness of her sanity to tremble beneath the knowledge.

Hate, too— she couldn't forget the hate, bitterly perfect and enough to choke her.

Or it might have been pain, or guilt.

At least part of it was guilt, choking her into a dulled silence as she picked at a loose thread of the arm of the couch, head laid down and blind to everything except herself, and she cringed back from it, the reflection of it. She was clean, and warm, and he had tucked her and when she woken up from her nap, he had been gone, note ordering her to stay and not do anything taped to the fabric just in front of her nose.

He didn't have a television, didn't spend enough of his time at the cabin to actually have a television, but that was probably for the best— Madden had been famous and downright worshipped by the people who didn't really know him. She had worshipped him, and this was where it had gotten her, covered in blood—

Ignorance was bliss, but it hadn't been for her, it had been anger but this was worse.

Used her to—

She swallowed down the urge to gag, pulling the quilt up higher onto her form and pressing herself back into the couch, urging herself to disappear. Didn't work, of course not, but she had tried, and tried harder, breathing quietly, achingly aware of what she had done, even if she didn't remember it as anything other than that edge of something she had no words for.

Madden deserved it, she knew that.

But— but she was no longer any better, and she had never been any better, he had used her to—

She was a murderer.

-

Tracy knew herself to be a strong and independent young woman.

The old adage about teenagers and jumping off a cliff would never apply to her— when other teenagers jumped off the cliff to fit in, Tracy was the kind of girl who would set up a lawn chair and hold a commentary about the mistakes being made by those poor idiots who went off the cliff in the first place.

Tracy had a sense of humor, she had common sense, and she was impossible to humiliate.

Therefore, she rarely fit into proper teenage society.

She was happy, though, and couldn't be pushed into doing anything she didn't want to do and her mother saw this, since her mother had been the one to pass this particular sense of self onto her firstborn—so when she happened to do something exceedingly stupid, her mother knew full well that she had known what she was doing.

The excuse of trying to fit in didn't work on her mother.

At the moment, though, Tracy desperately wished it did.

Her mother, standing on the other side of the bars, had a look on her face that indicated that she was experiencing the calm before the storm, and Tracy closed her eyes at the sudden vision of herself being pulled out of a basement a la Twister by her mother. It wasn't an enjoyable image, and she closed her eyes against it, dropping her head to rest against the bars. "Mom—"

"I'm not even going to ask you to rationalize this little stunt."

"Mom—"

"Hold on, I want to have some fun with this," her mother chuckled wickedly, and Tracy groaned, shaking her head dully. "From what I understand, my dear firstborn, you went driving around in my SUV trying to find the dog." She paused, and Tracy opened her eyes to find a sharp look focused on her. "With that little friend of yours."

"Her name is Brenda, Mom—"

"Yeah, sure, whatever," her mother tossed off, and her daughter closed her eyes again, hating that tone, since she used it so much herself. "I really don't care what you two were doing when you went driving into the police chief's new car, and in fact a part of me desperately doesn't want to know with what you two come up with when you get sugar in you, but I would like to know why you went driving around in nothing but a tank top and panties."

"That was an accident—"

"Really?"

For the first time Brenda raised her head from where she had been catching several minutes of sleep along the opposite wall. "It really was, Ms. Harris, it really was." She pointed beyond the older woman, out at the irritated-looking man with the stain on his pants. "And then Tubby over there came crashing into us."

"Yes, Brenda, but why was my daughter in nothing but her underwear?"

"I told you, that was an accident."

Her mother looked from her to Bren, cocking one eyebrow in an extremely intense look that said everything Tracy needed to know about her mother's opinion of this explanation. "You went running out to the car in nothing but what you were wearing, you honestly want me to believe that?"

"What does that look mean— Mom!"

"Well, knowing what I know about you two…" She glanced again at Bren, eyes narrowed— the redhead, offering Tracy a helpless shrug, stared right back, unbothered by intensity of the look. Tracy had the same look, and while she used it more often, it was still the same look. "I was a completely innocent lesbian, Ms. Harris, and I had nothing in your daughter's panties! Besides, you know she's straighter than a really straight… thing…"

"Really?"

At this point, Tracy became aware of the fact that the police chief seemed to be going into seizures. His eyes kept darting nervously between the two girls and then back to the scary woman that was her mother, looking for all the world as if he had just discovered a new and terrifyingly normal world. "I should go," he blurted out, and was gone, shaking her head furiously.

Tracy, in the few years since moving here, couldn't blame him— gay people seemed to be an endangered species in Pine Valley.

-

Jon didn't look there completely, arms wrapped around himself as he sat, eyes still locked with unshakable force on the women scattered around the park. She had tried to call Bianca, and again got no answer, so she was stuck with half her attention on Miranda and half on an increasingly agitated Jonathon, rocking the smallest bit on the bench beside her.

"Are you hungry?" she asked, half-hoping he was so that she could do something useful, but he went green at the mention of the word, and she exhaled, smoothing shaking palms across her thighs. She looked down at her cell, at the text message that she had gotten half an hour earlier, JR's hastily typed memo to watch out for him and call them if she saw him.

She had tried to call, and received no answer.

Real damn useful, these cell phones…

"I think she knew," he muttered suddenly, and she looked up, wary at first and then curious, finding him staring even harder at the woman some feet away. "Knew what, Jonathon?" She didn't get an answer, and tried again, louder, this time getting a jerk before he flicked a glance at her, nervous. "I think she knew, I think she knew what—"

"Who knew?"

But he went quiet again, breathing oddly, and she exhaled again, more harshly, hating the useless feeling in the pit of her stomach. "Jon, you tracked me down, why?" He was staring at her oddly, but for the first time, she was aware of the fact that he seemed to have found some kind of ground to stand on, the shaking had stopped. "Jon?"

"I woke up one night, after Dad died, and I got in the car and I left college and I went back to the house and I asked her why, and she said I was crazy— she said I made it up!" His voice was quiet, but oddly steady, sure of something. "That was a lie, Maggie, and I know it, because I know it's a lie."

"But who was it?"

"Mom," he snapped, wiping his hands furiously on his jeans, nodding vigorously. "It was Mom, Maggie, and then she tired to pretend like nothing ever happened, and she called me crazy, Maggie!" He swallowed, nodding to the woman, shaking again suddenly. "She called me crazy, and she made me think nothing happened."

"But something did happen," she stated, and he looked over, blinking, startled. "Yes, it did," he muttered, and nodded, and before she could stop him, she reached out and grabbed her hand, lacing their fingers together, gripping her hand like a lifeline. "It happened, Maggie, I know it did, because I remember."

"What do you remember?"

"I don't want to," he snapped, and flung her hand away as if it had burned him, closing his eyes. "I don't want to, you can't make me," he added, and she nodded in agreement, aware of the fact that he had a police record longer than she was high. "When I say no, I mean no," he added, and she nodded more furiously, shaken.

"Okay, no means no," she agreed, and he relaxed again, leaning back against the bench and crossing his arms across his middle. "That's right," he muttered, and shifted again, closing his eyes and sighing quietly. "No means no, and when I say it, I mean it, and when I say it, you're supposed to do what I say, you're supposed to stop."

"Yes, exactly—"

"Yes, yeah, you get it…"

"Of course I do," she murmured carefully, and he flicked her a wary look that finally relaxed long seconds later. "I get it," she added, and tossed hair over one shoulder, shrugging innocently. "If you say no, you mean no, I get it, I do," she assured him, and she exhaled, long and low, leaning back and going back to his silent watch of the mothers scattered around the park.

Switched on, and now switched off again…

"Jon, are you remembering something?"

"I don't want to talk about it," he mumbled, shoulders hunched and voice low and slightly frightened, and she swallowed, shifting on the seat and still working on keeping on eye on both of them. "Jon, you know if you ever want to talk, I'm here, you know that, right?" she asked, managing a small but sincere smile when he cautiously glanced at her.

"Yeah," he muttered, and she shifted again, very carefully, feeling like he would run off if she spooked him. She felt like this was important, unspeakably important, something that needed to be done on levels she couldn't name. "Jon—" She jumped when he shifted, complete attention again settling on her as he leaned forward. "I think she knew."

"Knew what?"

"What I am," he whispered raggedly, and she licked her lips, uneasy about the faintly dull look in his usually sharp eyes. "I think she knew, and she knew that I would need to be punished for what I was going to do, to you and Gray and everyone else... she knew, and she punished me for it," he finished, and she could barely hear above the thundering of her heart in her chest. "Jon—"

"I deserved it," he murmured, and Maggie swallowed down the sudden ache in her throat, blinking back the sudden burning in her eyes. She remembered being woken up one night just a month or so before leaving for Paris with Bianca, and dragged out of bed, and thrown out of the apartment— she'd been asleep, and hadn't done anything, and he'd freaked out in the middle of the night and went off on her. She hadn't understood what he was yelling, had been jerked out of heavy sleep and into a nightmare of chaos, and had never found an answer to it even though they had talked about so many other things, unhappy things since she had come to town—

A piece shifted, moved, and fit together with that stare he was giving her— and she gagged.

-

"I can't believe I passed out."

Dixie, tiny and sympathetic smile on her face, brushed red hair from the younger woman's face, not enjoying the way her son's more-than-a-crush was beating herself up over something she'd had no control over. JR had tried to come in, even going so far as to offer a rather hefty bribe to the nurse before Erin herself yelled for him to 'shoo' from her place in the hospital bed. "You're running on fumes, you're going to hit a wall sooner or later, honey."

"But I passed out." Dully, movements oddly jerky with suppressed strain, she took another sip of her juice, rubbing a palm across her face. "Jonathon needs me, he could be anywhere, and my answer is to pass out like… Oh, like somebody who decided to pass out in the middle of an emergency."

"It's completely understandable—"

"Not for me," the redhead snapped, and Dixie wondered if she realized how close she actually looked to crying, eyes overflowing with tears. Erin had the tight quality of somebody wound too tightly for too long, and Dixie privately decided that, as ugly as a breakdown might be, it couldn't possibly do anything to further damage the woman stretched out in the bed. "I have things I need to do."

The first time Dixie had met Erin, she'd decided that the girl— no, woman, no one who had that kind of age in her eyes could be called a girl— wasn't quite as bad as she'd heard, and it had been difficult to reconcile the fragile redhead with the "self-righteous Lavery" Babe had told her about in private. The second time, Dixie had found Erin protectively watching over JR in the aftermath of his confrontation with Josh Madden, pacing in front of his hospital room while Joe checked his sprained wrist.

The third time, she'd realized that JR was watching the redhead the way a starving man watched a steak, and had wondered if Erin had any idea how terrifyingly intense Chandlers could be when they were determined to get something. That thought had been tossed away when, after Erin asked him if he wanted coffee, he had fumbled around his words until he had managed to nod and mumble something about two sugars.

JR was as confused at how to handle this strange little courtship dance as Erin was, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

If things had been the way she wanted them to be, she would have gone to him, wrapped her arms around her firstborn and assured him that he didn't look as much of a fool as he probably thought he did, muttering angrily at himself after Erin had gone off to grab the coffee. She would have offered her support, and whatever comfort as she could while also trying very hard not to think about her baby's sex life.

Wrong, that her baby—and he would always be her baby—had a sex life, wasn't it?

Hadn't he been snuggled in her arms, playing with her earrings, just a few months ago?

If things were the way they were supposed to, she'd have assigned Tad to this problem, poked him until he offered to help her son and Erin stop running into their own issues long enough to realize that, hey, they were interested in each other. Tad would have cracked jokes, and made comments, but he would have understood that Dixie was too mentally disturbed by the thought of her son's romantic life to actively be a help in bringing Erin into it.

Instead, she'd stood outside Tad's room, arms locked around herself, staring at her shoes and shaking with the knowledge that things weren't the way they were supposed to be. She'd watched JR mutter at himself, and offered no support, only breathing again when, with an oddly empty glance in her direction, he had finally slipped into Tad's room, leaving her to stand, heart bleeding.

"Did you even eat anything today?"

"I didn't have time—"

"You could swung by, and—"

"Oh, God, not you, too," the redhead groaned, and she sounded so alive in her almost childlike exasperation that Dixie couldn't help but feel giddy at it, seeing a flicker of who she'd be if she ever let herself. "All the way here, JR was whining about how we should grab something, how I should eat something, how I need to eat something."

"So, you haven't eaten anything, and you're surprised you passed out?"

"I've gone hungry before," she snapped, and Dixie studied the sudden way she went quiet, eyes going murky with something Dixie almost didn't want to know about. "I mean, I'm fine," she added, and Dixie found herself scowling, wanting to shake her until she admitted she wasn't as okay as she wanted them all to think she was.

It was familiar, and brought back thoughts of Tad— every so often, he would go quiet and bitter, dark-eyed and somehow unspeakably fragile, clinging to her like a lifeline. She had always been sure it had something to do with Ray, with his life before the Martins, but she'd never been brave enough to ask, and he'd never said anything about what brought on the moods.

All she knew was what he had cracked jokes about over the years, dulling the force behind the memories the only way he could.

Dixie wondered, absently, if JR would ever be brave enough to ask—if they ever found their way into something outside of nervous flirting and uneasy glances that said more than words ever could. Dixie thought he would, and nodded to herself, stilling when she caught the confused frown Erin had set on her. "It's nothing," she assured the redhead, but she still looked doubtful.

"Really," she added and was saved by Erin's sharp and entirely too knowing stare by an irritated-looking JR, muttering dark things under his breath and carrying Subway, sipping angrily at a suspiciously childish-looking plastic cup with a lid and straw. Catching the stunned looks he was getting from the two women, he muttered, "It was the cheapest thing they had," and dropped the bag of subs on the bed next to Erin. "Eat it."

"How do you know what I—"

"Got a club, and a meatball, and a wrap— pick one and eat, before I bring a nurse in to feed your intravenously." When Erin gaped at him, seemingly speechless, he preened, and patted his jacket pocket. "I got a cookie, too— and you can have it after you eat." That got a reaction, the redhead crossing her arms over her chest and glaring. "That's not fair."

"Don't care, eat."

"You can't make me eat!"

"My Mom can."

"No, she—" She stopped, trailing off, faltering beneath the look now being settled on her by Dixie, wide-eyed and hopeful and so utterly desperate that she groaned and dropped back to the bed, pressing a palm against her forehead. "I can't believe this," she muttered, not able to meet Dixie's gaze as she pulled the meatball out of the bag and started unwrapping it, scowling.

Dixie couldn't help it, she preened, a grin that quickly died off when she found JR staring at her hard, very carefully. She twisted to her feet, offering a slight smile to Erin, and a promise to go find the redhead something to drink before fleeing the room hastily, shaken by that stare she'd had focused on her.

It was for the best, anyway— they would get some time alone.

-

Erica felt faintly dazed as she strode towards the plane, heels clicking a quick rhythm against the pavement as she braced herself for whatever it was Kendall had called her out here for. If Kendall knew— if she knew— Erica smoothed fingers across the fabric of her handbag, shaking, dizzy with a quiet panic.

What had she done?

What had she done to put this curse on her daughters, her beautiful girls?

Had she done something horrific to a puppy, in a past life, or had she taken some life that hadn't meant to be taken? Had she betrayed someone, hurt someone, violated someone so badly that it came back around not only to her but to her daughters, her girls, different but alike but both hers, even when she had been afraid of what that had meant?

Erica had yet to think of anything bad enough for this punishment.

It had been Hazel, faintly sympathetic but not really, and Erica wished she had never come back, wished she had kept her mouth shut and let Erica live in her hopeful denial of what part of her had been sure of. Greg's obsession, first creating Josh, and now this? Stripped Kendall of that thing that should never be taken from anyone?

She had known, felt it, in the vaguely giddy way Greg had always spoken of the baby before his death, sliding a palm across Kendall's stomach in such a fatherly way that Erica had nearly gagged on it at times, trembling with the urge to do something to get him away from Kendall, by whatever means necessary.

Whoever had killed him had won Erica's eternal and unending gratitude, as far as Erica Kane was concerned.

Richard and Michael and Greg, turning up every time she turned around, different faces but always who they really were, bringing nightmares and screaming with them, shredding her to the bone with what they took from her. And then Greg had been dead but there was Hazel, whispering the suspicion, spinning the fear into words and whatever rational part of Erica had fled at it, shriveled beneath the feeling it brought to her.

By the time she stepped into the jet, she was a mass of nerves, startled into a stop when she found Kendall staring back at her, looking… "Honey, are you okay?" she asked cautiously, and Kendall shrugged nonchalantly, nodding, catching Erica's sleeve and pulling her in, tossing curls from her face. "Fine, just fine, over the moon, really."

"Then what—" And a second later a handful of grandchildren was dumped unceremoniously in her small hold, dragging a stunned yelp from the petite woman. "Oh," she sputtered, handbag dropping to the floor of the jet as she caught a better grip on him, shifting him until she was sure she would lose her hold. "Oh, dear— honey?"

"I have to go to the bathroom," Kendall announced brightly before vanishing in that direction, leaving Erica alone with Chris— and Ryan. They stared at one another for long heartbeats, her taking him in with wary caution. "I take it you didn't—" She couldn't finish it, but he shook his head, only vaguely paying attention to her as he typed numbers furiously into his cell and listened, growing increasingly agitated.

"Ryan—" Again, she couldn't find a word, and instead shifted Chris a few times more, pulling him away when he began to yank at one beaded earrings, drooling a large stain across the shoulder of her coat. "What is this?" she finally managed to snap in a vaguely threatening tone, and Ryan glanced up, snorting. "She didn't sleep last night, and then announced two hours ago that she wanted to leave early."

"Leave to—"

Oh… well, shit…

-

Skye had never held Colby, but she had pictures, stacks of pictures sent and filling a box she kept under her bed.

Phones calls, and e-mails and while she'd known it would be a moment, she hadn't expected this surge of emotion.

Colby was every inch a Chandler, a petite and blonde form of their father, and with a wicked smile that instantly made Skye's middle freeze up in a vague warning that the girl was already trouble. She'd launched herself, shrieking, into Skye's arms like a lithe little missile, squealing and smelling strongly of—

"Why do you smell like coconuts?"

"It's my anointing oil," the blonde grinned, pulling away long enough to beam at Skye with glee before drawing her close again, arms tight and inherently right around her. "It works the best when I'm trying to handle focus and all that stuff, and it's a new bottle, just got it a few days ago."

She pulled away again, allowing Skye to take a closer look at her— shoulder-length hair gathered up loosely at the back of her neck with a pen, giddy blue eyes, tank top and shorts and bare feet that glittered with bright purple nail polish as she wriggled them excitedly. She looked like nothing special, but her eyes were sharp and there was something decidedly and wonderfully nefarious as she looked Skye up and down.

Skye had the faint feeling she was being studied, as if she was being measured for her usefulness in… what?

"What?"

"Nothing," the girl chirped innocently, grinning happily and grabbing Skye by the hand, waving her other hand lightly as if there was nothing to worry about. "Dad's out of the house for a few hours, going to go talk cakes or something with uncle Stuart and Brooke's doing something, and JR's…" She trailed off, glancing at Skye from beneath her lashes and, yes, the girl was trying something.

"JR's what?" Skye prodded dryly, amused despite herself, and vaguely intimidated by the way Colby chewed her lip and smiled brightly, brilliantly. "It's just, he's really lonely these days, you know," she sighed, nodding sadly and while she had the look of a plotter, there was something honest there that made a nerve on Skye's neck twitch in unhappiness.

"Maybe he needs a girlfriend?"

"I don't know… I mean, he's a dork when it comes to romance, you know?"

"He is, huh?"

Colby was good; Skye had to give her that.


	36. Chapter 36

_You say you fell while holding diamonds in your hands  
"It's your fault for running, holding diamonds," I said  
And I offer no sympathy for that  
I hear that it was you who died alone  
And I offer no sympathy for that_

I turned around 3 times and wound up at your door  
Now you say you know all you did not know before  
And I offer no sympathy for that  
I hear that it was you who died alone  
And I offer no sympathy for that

- Anna Nalick, 'In The Rough

-

Chapter Thirty-Six

-

Bianca was half-dressed and on her way out the door when the phone went off, dragging her back in when her mother's voice came across through the machine, making something painful flicker in her chest with a quiet sense of betrayal. She pushed it down, dropping her bag to the sofa and grabbing the phone off the cradle, sighing a ragged response and bracing herself.

Useless to even try, though—

Her mother sounded panicked, and slightly out-of-control, breathy, and it took several minutes for Bianca, frowning, to get what her mother was saying. When she finally did, she wished she didn't, groaning in quiet helplessness as she pressed a palm to her face shakily. "Mom, this is crazy…"

"Yes, I told you sister that, but—"

_No_, Bianca wanted to shriek, _this is crazy, this thing, all of this, all of these lies!_

She bit her tongue hard, eyes tearing as she caught her breath, finally letting it out as a hiss. "Mom, let me talk to her, okay?" There was a hesitation and she dropped onto the sofa, drained by just these words being exchanged, and what lurked under them, thoughts of that helplessness making her heart tremble with a quiet fear. "Bianca?"

"Kendall—" She stopped, took a breath, and forced herself to continue, more calmly— "Kendall, what are you doing?" She was aware of the fact that she sounded a bit manic, a bit off-the-rocker but she couldn't quite care because Greg— "Kendall, I know you can hear me, talk to me, please."

"I'm fine."

_No_, Bianca decided with a sudden wrench of her heart, _none of them were fine._

"Turn the plane around, and come home."

"I don't have a home." It was almost inaudible, but it did its damage, cut her deep as she inhaled sharply against it, shaken. "Kendall…" The words seemed worthless, seemed like a joke, and she closed her mouth, wishing crying could help. They'd all sit together, and they'd sob and they'd be fine— except that didn't work, not in the real world. "We need to talk—"

She wasn't sure what she was supposed to say, really, or how she was supposed to say whatever it was. Greg hadn't broken in during a thunderstorm, hadn't raped her, but… Bianca swallowed, struggling to get her breathing steady as she listened to her sister's, a fragile noise over the connection, and thought of that storm, the night that Greenlee's embryos had been lost.

Or, had there ever been any embryos in the first place, had he ever intended to give Greenlee her baby, at all?

"Kendall, it's important," she finally managed to choke out, and realized that she hadn't been clear enough, forcing the words out again as clearly as she could. "Kendall, I mean it," she added, and she almost broke down when the only sound that came across the connection was the click of it going out.

For a moment she sat there, dead phone in her hand before she jerked in surprise, eyes flying open when it let out a shrill sound, another person calling her. "Kendall?" she squeaked breathlessly, only to exhale in disappointment when it was Maggie's voice that reached her. "Bianca?"

"Maggie, I don't have time—"

"I need you to call Jamie and tell him we're at the park."

"What?"

"Call Jamie and tell him that I know where Jon is."

Bianca snapped upright, stiff, eyes widening even more. "What do you mean?" she demanded, shaken, and Maggie made a short noise in her throat, an overly soothing one. "It's okay, really, we're in a public place, but I can't do anything, okay? I need you to call Jamie and tell them where to find me."

"Why are they looking for him?" When silence greeted her, dark and too-still, she shifted, uneasy. "Maggie, did he do something?" she asked more heatedly, and swallowed when Maggie snapped back, "Its okay, just call Jamie, I can't reach him." Bianca shook her head, even if it was useless, and Maggie added in an oddly fragile tone, "Bianca, please, tell them where we are."

"But—"

"Jesus, Bianca, just do it, please!"

"Why are they looking for him?"

"Bianca, please, trust me, call Jamie and tell them where we are, he's calm enough right now—"

"Why does he need to be calm?"

"I'll tell you after we get to the hospital—"

Why did she sound like she had been crying?

"Did he hurt you?"

"Bianca, _please_."

It was the tone that finally got through to her, and she stilled, suddenly deeply disturbed. It was a familiar tone, but not one she'd heard when Maggie had been doing anything to do with Jonathon. She knew the tone, she did, but she couldn't place it— and it brought an uneasy wave of nostalgia to her, a harsh brush against her already raw nerves. "Maggie… okay, I'll call."

"Just tell them to hurry up," Maggie added, and then she was gone, with the same suddenness that Kendall had left her.

Maggie, Kendall, Mom… Chris…

Bianca was rushing out the door even as she dialed Jamie's number.

-

Stuffed with cake, tiny burps bringing up hints of strawberry icing and chocolate fudge, Adam very carefully eased his way into the mansion, stilling every so often to let his over-packed stomach catch up with his body. It was one of his few weaknesses, finely baked cakes and cookies, and while he was able to hide it usually, Stuart never failed to use it against him.

His childhood hadn't been blessed with too many sweets and, much like hard cash, dessert was not to be wasted or treated in any way disrespectfully. He savored his sweets, one bite at a time, at times sighing with delight when he was sure he was alone and no one would taunt him with it.

Dixie had always understood, at least on some level.

His progress deeper into the mansion was slow but steady; his shuffle became a cautious stride once he was sure his body wouldn't betray him. "Mustn't let Brooke know about your indulgence," he muttered, nodding to himself as he started piecing together quick ways to keep her from picking up on the unmistakable smell of icing and cake that permeated from him. "She'll have your head."

"Probably mount it and everything, too," Skye added, and he nodded in agreement, grinning to himself— he could count on Skye to understand the mechanics of his mind, couldn't he? Oh, wait— "Skye?" he choked, stuttering to a stop and snapping his head back around to find his eldest child sitting on the couch, one eyebrow cocked in a silent mockery of his surprise.

Colby, doubled over in hysterical silent laughter, looked like she was dying.

"Very funny," he snapped at his youngest daughter, and she nearly fell off the couch, tears rolling down her face. "She's a bit crazy," Skye remarked, jerking her head at Colby, and twirled her finger at her temple in a tell-tale gesture. "I hear she flies on brooms, too—" She paused, glanced at Colby, cocked her eyebrow higher, "Or do you girls use a vacuum these days?"

Colby threw a pillow at Skye, missing by a good foot— not a surprise, seeing as she was still half blind with laughter.

He threw a glance at the coffee table, frowning at the sight of several notebooks and— Oh, Lord, Skye had already brought out the Marvin Gaye records, just wonderful. "What's this?" he asked, and both daughters flashed him identical looks of complete and totally innocence. "Nothing," they chirped, and he snorted, disregarding it as he moved forward and very carefully wrapped his arms around the woman before him.

He still remembered the tiny redhead who had sat on his lap listening to stories about Lottie, giggles filling the mansion with perfection in a way that defied rational explanation. She was grown, tall and flawlessly flawed, but she was still the girl who had come up with ways to get back at her enemies on the playground in ways that made him beam with pride.

"You're squeezing me to death," she cracked, but her voice trembled, and he chuckled, pulling away long enough to press a kiss to her temple, smoothing his palms down dark red tresses. When he held her again, it was more carefully, giddy with the warmth she brought him, filled with it, almost dizzy with it. "Thought I'd come back for your one billionth wedding," she snickered, and he grinned, rather wickedly.

"We all knew Brooke would come to her senses eventually," he added in an amused voice, brushing a thumb across her cheek and tucking her hair behind her ears with careful force, nodding at the rightness of it, even years after she had left. "It just took a while, but I knew I could handle it, always could."

"So romantic, really," she drawled, and he grinned, pressing one last kiss to her forehead before shifting his attention to Colby, still snickering but very hastily piling the CDs and notebooks together, throwing him an overly wide-eyed glanced when she realized he was staring at her. "What, daddy?"

"What's what, daddy?"

"That notebook that reads 'Operation: Get Brother Laid'," he smirked, and she blanched, looking down at the closed notebook in her hands with wide eyes. "You did not read that," she babbled, and he cocked an eyebrow, proof of where Skye had gotten her favorite look when she was annoyed. "Chandlers have very good eyesight, dear."

Colby scowled, dropped the stack back to the table, flopped back down into the couch and pulled a pillow onto her face, groaning. "It's like— it's like trying to make two colorblind people agree on what to paint the bedroom," she growled, voice slightly muffled but still clear enough to understand. "JR actually ran into a wall the other day to get away from her!"

"That's because he has no game," Skye sighed, and Adam winced in silent agreement, kneading fingers against his forehead with a shake of his head. "He doesn't get it from me," he added, more to himself than anyone else, and Skye gave a snort of laughter, coughing something about a 'billion ex-wives' under her breath. "Erin has even less game," Colby muttered, dropping her pillow onto her lap and smacking it furiously. "It's just so sad, and Petey—"

"That boy will not be involved in this," Adam announced, taking a seat and flipping open one of the notebooks, lips twitching at Colby's scrawl of words. "Cortlandts ruin everything they touch," he added, thinking of the apparent weakness the Chandlers had grown over the last few years to redheads— first him and Brooke, and then his poor unable-to-handle-a-courtship son and Lavery, and now his daughter and that clown of a Cortlandt she was always hanging around with.

Brooke had class, and Lavery had a massive amount of potential.

Peter Cortlandt, on the other hand…

"Petey's my go-to man," Colby drawled, looking very smug as she tossed a few strands of loose blonde hair from her face. "Even if he doesn't want to help me, he doesn't have a choice, I control him," she added with a smirk, and he cocked an eyebrow, helplessly curious. "Can't tell you," she sighed, shaking her head. "Suffice it to say that he looks downright adorable in a fluffy pink tail and long ears, daddy."

"Thank God, the black-mailing gene's already kicked in," he sighed, and Skye snickered, shaking her head in amusement. "Well, we don't really have a choice," he announced, tossing the notes to Colby, nodding to himself. "We'll just have to take matters into our own extremely skilled hands," he added, and Colby perked up, shifting her gaze between Skye and Adam. "You mean, you guys aren't going to tell me to butt out, or anything like that?"

"Scheming is a distinctly Chandler quality, Colby." He grinned, flashing white teeth in a wolf grin that made Skye snort in nostalgia, dazed with how right it felt to be sitting here and scheming with her father and little sister, even if she hadn't been back in years. "You're all Chandler, dear, but your skills need to be polished."

"We can help with that," Skye added, and Colby beamed, deciding that it was a good day to be a Chandler.

-

"Where's that other woman, the scary-looking one with the big earrings?"

Gwen, Zach's annoyingly new assistant, smiled slightly, looking at him like he was an idiot, standing there with a box under one arm and a childishly irritated expression on his unmistakable Kane features. "Edie's out for a few hours, can I help you?" Sighing, shaking himself, he jerked his chin at the office door. "I need to get in there."

"I'm sorry, but Mr. Slater's handling some very important business."

"This is more important."

"You don't have an appointment."

"I was his brother-in-law!"

The blonde tossed blonde hair behind her shoulder, gave him an infuriatingly chipper smile, and said, "I'm sorry but I can't accommodate you right now, Mr. Madden." He glared at her, dropping the box onto her desk, and leaning over it, hoping to intimidate her with his penetrating stare. "I want to talk to him."

"Need and want are two very different things."

He stared at her, slightly dazed, and she smiled back brightly, leaving him to lean back again, blinking furiously. When he'd seen that the scary woman wasn't around, he'd decided that things were improving. He knew he had charm, but it was failing him when he needed it most.

Maybe the Kane genes were recessive in males?

"I need to talk to him."

"I'm very sorry—"

"Gwen?"

Josh glanced up, flashing from relief at the image of Zach Slater staring at the blonde with a cocked eyebrow and a slight frown, and then to a sudden rush of quiet fury at the sight of the blonde behind him. "So, going to seduce our friendly neighborhood casino owner, too?" She flinched, and he smirked, helplessly giddy at it.

"That's enough," Zach snapped, shooting him a sharp look, and Josh fell silent, although he settled a vicious glance on Di, pleased when she cringed back, looking guilty. A part of him knew she was the more innocent component of this nasty little affair but Josh, in addition to being a jack of all trades, knew that he could be a bit of a bitch himself.

He couldn't rag on Lavery, the bastard wasn't answering his phone, but Di was here.

Might as well find some way to vent.

"I like your other assistant better," Josh snidely remarked, throwing a look at the blonde, who smiled brightly right back, an edge in her eyes the only thing promising swift retribution if he ever crossed in front of her car. "Edie's not in right now, she's handling some personal matters," Zach threw back at him before exchanging quiet words with Di that had her darting away, vanishing from his sight.

At least she felt guilty about it, which had to be something, right?

"I came to talk to you," Josh sighed, hefting the box again and displaying it with a flourish of one hand. "Kanes are a stubborn lot, or so Myrtle tells me." Zach just cocked an eyebrow, not impressed, and Josh sighed, rolling his eyes, keeping his humor up, using it to block out the ever-increasing panic in the back of his mind. "We really need to talk."

"We're not family anymore."

"We were never family," Josh snorted, shrugging, "but that's never stopped me, trust me." Before Slater could stop him, he strode past him into the office, unbothered by the attempt to grab a shoulder and pull him back. "Boy—" Josh dropped the box to the desk, flashing Slater a smirk over one shoulder, "I'm not your boy, so don't condescend me."

"I have to go handle some things—"

"Brooke was the first person to find out about the affair, and she was going to write an expose about it—apparently, she's still a bit pissed about Lavery saying that death by shovel wasn't all that big a deal, anyway." Why she seemed to still be angrier at Ryan for his part in it than Jonathon, the guy who had actually done it, Josh himself wasn't too sure about, but he had gotten Slater's attention.

"You know about the affair?"

"Yeah, dug it out and showed Kendall—"

"What the Hell is wrong with you?" Slater exploded, and Josh finally had enough, dropping the letters he had been sorting to the desk to glance back at the older man again, irritated. "Yes, I told her, she had the right to know that her husband's been fucking around on her, okay?" Slater opened his mouth, no doubt intending to bring out more anger, but Josh's phone went off and he grabbed it, snapping it open hastily. "Hello?"

"Josh?"

"Bianca, I'm trying to—"

"Kendall's gone," she blurted out almost hysterically, and he deflated on the inside, humor dying, the panic becoming a sudden riptide beneath his awareness. "What do you mean—" he started jarringly, but she babbled on in a rush, "Mom called a little while ago, Kendall called her before the sun came up this morning and told her to come to the airport and they're gone, Josh, they're gone."

"But she—"

"Josh, they're gone, and Ryan's with them, and Chris—"

"But—"

"I'm pulling into the hospital now—"

"What are you doing at the hospital?" he started, only to jump when Slater jumped forward himself, eyes flying wide open in an expression that probably mirrored his own. "Why's she at the hospital?" the casino owner snapped, and Josh waved him off furiously, trying to listen. "Bianca—"

"I don't know, but it'll be fine, I need you to do something—"

"Like what?!"

"I don't know, just do something, I need to go— Maggie, what's—" The last two words were fainter, and Josh exhaled unhappily, inhaling again when her voice returned, stronger than before. "I don't know, but Miranda and I are fine, but Maggie says— Do something, Josh!" she half-shrieked, and then was gone in a sudden decisive click.

Josh had never wanted to strangle her more. 


	37. Chapter 37

_So, this story is not dead - however, this show, AMC?_

_Yeah, it's fucking broken me, and I'm completely done with it._

_However, I'm writing again - so, yeah, enjoy!_

_-_

_One child grows up to be  
Somebody that just loves to learn  
And another child grows up to be  
Somebody you'd just love to burn_

'Blood's thicker than mud'  
It's a family affair, it's a family affair  
Nobody wants to be left out  
You can't leave, 'cause your heart is there  
But you can't stay, 'cause you been somewhere else!

It's a family affair  
It's a family affair

- Sly and the Family Stone, 'Family Affair'

-

Chapter Thirty-Seven

-

Settling as lightly as he could on the hospital bed, he let fingers brush very slightly across dark locks, freshly washed by the nurses since she was still too drugged out to walk or even wake up. He'd heard her as he followed John on his rounds, listening to her proudly explain to the nurses and faculty that she was going to be a star, whether people liked it or not.

She was beautiful enough.

Thoughtfully, taking in the signs of the last days of exhaustion, from her strangely small frame to the nearly black shadows under closed eyes, Greg drummed his fingers against her bed, drinking in the sight of her, absently deciding that he would take care of whoever had done this to her in the first place.

Everybody needed a doctor sooner or later.

Erica Kane was going to be a star, and he saw it easily, the same something present now that had been present when she had come into the hospital some weeks before, seemingly unaware of the swollen belly she was carrying around. She was a special case, as John told the young man every few days, a worried frown on his face as he perhaps picked up on the disturbing new trend of Greg, finishing his work to go talk to the damaged girl, stars in her eyes and a forced ignorance of whatever had driven her here.

Erica Kane would be an even more beautiful woman.

"Greg."

He turned slowly, so as not to wake her, eyes settling on John, seeing that now familiar look of disturbance on his weathered face as he stood in the doorway. "What are you doing?" Greg smiled slightly, standing carefully, glad when she didn't respond, and moved closer. "Checking her numbers."

John walked past him to the bed, staring down at the small shape, seemingly searching her for something before looking back at his protégé, disturbance changed to irritation. "I don't want you in this room again, Greg." When the young man went to speak, he shook his head, leveling a look of stony force at him. "You do it again, and you'll regret it."

"Never."

It was a word, two syllables, but it did what it was supposed to, startling the doctor into silence and casting them both into their selective corners, obsession and confusion. "Greg—" The only response he got was a smile before the young man promptly turned and left, leaving John to fumble in confusion, wondering at the sudden sickening tightness in his middle.

-

Josh Madden had two ways of dealing with stress.

The first was to simply deal with it. After years dealing with his father's twitchy form of obsessive parenting and his mother's rapid decline into a state that wasn't quite lucid, he'd learned to work with stress with the best of them. His other way, that of a complete and total breakdown of his own, was one he rarely fell victim to.

To his great and utter frustration, he could feel shades of complete and utter breakdown approaching his sanity.

"Why is Bianca at the hospital?" Slater demanded and Josh scowled, wishing the idiot had started caring a bit earlier, before shit had gotten this worse. "I don't know, but she says she's fine, and she says Miranda is fine, so let's get back to business." Hastily, he flipped the lid off the box, shuffled through the letters absently, scowling. "You have no idea how much of a mess things are right now—"

"What are those—"

"Letters," he snapped, not caring when all he got in response was an almost comically blank stare. He grabbed the few he had tied together, stuffed them into the inside of his jacket and glanced back at Zach. "These are yours, almost all of them, and I'm taking the ones that aren't for you with me."

"This is Kendall's handwriting," the casino owner muttered, one envelope held in his fingers as he stared down at it uneasily. "Yeah," Josh sighed, shrugging as he went through the box of them one more time, finding all of them decorated with Zach's name. "They're for you, all the rest of these, do with them what you want."

"But what are they?" Josh flicked a glance at him and snorted, finding the other man sliding a thumb across the scrawled words, tracing them in a way that was almost disturbing. "They're not nice," Josh said bluntly, and moved past Slater, heading for the door. "But they're yours, and if she was herself, she'd have given them to you a long time ago."

"Where are you—"

"I have more important things to do."

-

Once upon a time, Trey had been good with stress.

Even when he was drowning in it, he'd be able to keep his head above it enough to actually think, to keep himself going enough to figure a way out of it, one way or another. He didn't have David or Kendall's scheming ability, to his own irritation, but he could survive when he really needed to, even if it required some things that were none too pretty.

This wasn't a natural kind of stress, though.

Jack had headed out already, making a beeline for the airport when they'd realized she was nowhere to be found in the massive penthouse Jack had rented out so many months before. Reggie had run off to check her stores, the few places she went by herself these days when she was having a good day. This left Trey to handle his older half-brother.

His evil genius older brother, the older brother with a big brain that could do bad things easily.

Staring down at the phone in his hands, he gnawed his bottom lip, trying to summon courage as he sat there, uneasily aware of how horribly this had gone wrong in the last few hours. Finally, bracing himself with whatever courage he could dig up, he dialed David's number and leaned back on the couch, pressing the heel of his free hand into his eyes absently.

"What's the matter?" his brother demanded, and Trey took another breath, held it as he prepared himself for David's protective fierceness. "It's Greenlee," he blurted out hastily, deciding to dive right in, and swallowed when he heard the sudden tight silence on the other side of the connection, a tense stillness abruptly broken by, "What happened?"

"I—We don't know," he admitted, digging his heel in until he could see little stars exploding in his vision. "I watched some old movie with her last night and when I woke up this morning, she had stolen my keys and run off, we don't know where she went," he added, admittedly needlessly, somehow aware of David's growing fury on the line. "David—"

"You lost a grown woman?"

"We didn't lose her, and Jack's out looking, and Reggie's out—"

"Montgomery couldn't find his ass if it wasn't attached," David snapped harshly, and if there wasn't the panicked something beneath his voice, Trey would have been a lot more frightened. More than that, David had shown in the last year that he could better with others than most people thought, although he and Jack tended to dissolve into outright swear matches if Reggie and Trey weren't around to keep them under control. "Is there any chance she hopped a flight?"

"We don't know, but that's where Jack's going—"

"Where's her cell phone?"

"She left it—"

"So she could be in Timbuktu for all we know, huh?"

"I'm sorry—" His words died in his throat, and he exhaled when David hung up on him, leaving him holding a dead phone and filled with guilt, aching with it. Dropping his hands, he sat there for a long few moments, trying to get a hold on himself, enough that he could be useful.

"Sorry," he added more softly, and headed out of the penthouse to look for Leo's broken shell of a wife.

-

Zach thought the words 'courage' and 'cowardly' had too much power contributed to them.

Both had their uses; people tended to flip between one and the other, he had found. A survivor, he had found, did more running in his or her lifetime. Fleeing was vastly underrated, and far too misunderstood by the world at large. People relied too much on one or the other, bound themselves to one form or another, and were confused when they drowned in the meaning of the words themselves.

There was nothing wrong with being a coward, not really.

But the guilt was there, and it had never been there before Kendall had entangled him.

Other guilt had been there, but he had never hated himself for fleeing a painful position.

Zach fiddled with the envelope with his hands for a long time, fingers itching with a mix of terror and excitement, his heart twisting harshly in his chest. The writing burned his fingers, scalded his skin, but he finally gave in, leaning against his desk as he opened the envelope and tugged out the paper, unfolding it quickly and skimming the words.

It took a long time for the words to sink in, settle into his heart and his mind, and he finally dropped the paper to the desk, shaken, trembling. He knew those words, had said them himself a thousand times over, spoken them to his father in moments when his control had broken and he had lashed out, helpless not to.

The same hate, not spoken but written… but it was the same hate.

-

Miranda looked bored, sitting in the hospital chair under Julia Santos-Keefer's watchful eye.

Bianca was grateful for it, especially since Maggie seemed to be in the throes of a complete mental breakdown.

The petite woman had been coming undone when Bianca had arrived at the park just a few minutes ahead of Jamie and Joanna, the older woman looking extraordinarily calm with her frazzled graying hair and hospital coat, having rushed out mindless of Anita's attempts to take it first. To his credit, Jon hadn't bolted when he noticed the small horde of people coming for him, although he had blanched and started babbling things that made no sense to Bianca. And then the police had arrived, wanting to see why he had run off in the first place.

It had taken a good amount of wrangling from Bianca to get them to back off enough to allow Jon to be taken back to the hospital. At that point, however, Jon had panicked and decided that he didn't want to head back to the hospital. Jamie had managed to cut him off before he could get away, and him and Jo had half-carried, half-led Jon to the waiting police car to take him back to the hospital.

And at that point, Maggie had burst into tears.

It was insane and too much to take on top of her frantic panic from Kendall's latest decision to run off.

And here she was, trying to keep a calming arm around Maggie— she didn't seem to remember their fight from the night before, a tiny blessing for Bianca—and also try to figure out why things had suddenly become such utter chaos. It had been bad enough to find out that he had been skipping sessions, but now this, and nobody was telling her what the Hell was going on.

Bianca didn't need this stress, not now.

"What's going on?"

Lips pursing, Bianca turned, finding JR Chandler just behind her, frown on his face and eyes dark with worry. "Did they find Lavery?" he asked quietly, and she gritted her teeth, irritation flaring in her middle. "You don't have any place in this," she started, but Maggie shook her head at JR, explaining in a thick voice, "They found him after he found me, and— I don't think he's sane."

"I'm gonna need to tell Erin," he muttered, frown getting darker as he shifted and then glanced back over one shoulder. "I don't think she's asleep, but—" He exhaled, and Bianca swallowed, feeling suddenly chilled as Maggie pulled away with a mumble about something as she slipped away, moving to exchange quiet words with Jamie, a nervous young man pacing furiously. "What do you want?" Bianca demanded, feeling suddenly panicked at how stressed he looked about Erin.

"I'm trying to make sure the abusive murderer isn't completely insane, Binks—"

"Haven't you done enough?"

"You're still pissed off because I told your girl about Babe?"

"It was none of your business—"

"But it was Stone's, I think." He looked angry suddenly, blue eyes going flinty as he stepped closer, eyes narrowed. "You went out of your way not to let Maggie know that you're bestest friends ever with that bitch, Bianca, so you must have some idea of how badly it would hurt her, and how much Maggie hates her."

"You had no right—"

"You're going to lead a charge against me now?" he asked incredulously, looking completely dazed, and she stuck her chin out, grateful suddenly that she had someone to attack. "Jonathon Lavery's going psycho again, and you're going to try to kick my ass because I told your girlfriend that you're cuddling up to the woman that stole your child?"

"I knew you were cruel, JR, how you treated Babe was proof enough that—"

"I'm not listening to this shit," he snapped, and just like that she was ignored when he turned and heading back where he had come from, leaving her shaking with her quiet rage, wishing he'd come back so she could hate him, give her something to focus on— "I guess you don't give a damn about Kendall, either, huh?"

Harsh, and she knew it; his connection with her sister was at times frightening in its persistence in strength, and its refusal to be destroyed. If you wanted to get him where you could hurt him, you went through Kendall, something she knew she had used before, a handful of times since they had parted ways as good friends. Kendall hated it, went chilly for days, but it worked, and always did.

It worked now as well, his head snapping around and eyes gone colder than before. "I've been trying to call her… do you know where she is?" he asked more heatedly, and she licked her lips, swallowing, shaken by the force in his stare. "Bianca?" he demanded more hotly, and she gave in, temper escaping, "She ran off with my mother and Ryan, they went to where he and Greenlee got hitched a few years ago."

"And you didn't stop her?!"

"What do you want me to do, tie her up? What, put her on a leash?!"

"She'd do it for you, although God knows why anyone would bother," he snapped, and she flinched, falling back as he turned and strode away, vanishing around a corner even as he was digging around for his phone. She stood awkwardly for a minute, regretting it but grateful or the anger at the same time, something to focus on. "Bianca?"

Taking a breath, she glanced at Maggie, found her tiny lover staring at her with a fragile kind of hurt, arms wrapped around herself and looking utterly drained of life. "Is something the matter with Kendall?" she asked softly, and Bianca swallowed again, closing her eyes for a heartbeat, torn between anger and weak desperation.

"It's nothing," she finally managed with a tiny smile, and pushed past Maggie, spotting Jo coming out of the double doors some feet away and feeling a rush of relief at the newest thing to focus on. She wasn't sure what was worse at the moment, Maggie's care or Maggie's anger, but they were both wearing at her, exhausting in their intensity.

Maggie was as exhausting as Kendall, and she couldn't handle both at once.

-

_To Whom It May Concern—_

I can't sleep at night, and it's your fault.

You promised me a life together, and it was a lie, it all was, and you always knew. Did you find it funny, me acting like a love sick idiot? Find it funny when I hoped and dreamed and though, hey, just maybe this time will be different, this time when he says 'forever,' he actually means it? To think that maybe it'll be more than me in the end, alone, the butt of the big joke?

He won't stop kicking me, all night long, over and over again, bruising up my insides. He's not supposed to be mine, he doesn't feel like mine, because he was supposed to be Greenlee's, I created him for Greenlee, because she was broken and she needed a baby to fix it and because I couldn't lose her too. Even if she didn't love me, I didn't want to lose her too, didn't you realize that?

You're just like Michael and the result's the same, this kid nobody really wants in the end.

Ryan says he loves me, and I think he's telling the truth, so what business is it of yours?

What are you going to do, take me away from him, tell me he's a liar, and a cheat?

I wouldn't believe you anyway, so don't even try it.

-

"Erin—" He stopped suddenly, half in and half out of the small room where the nurse had left the redhead to sleep off her emotional hitch some hours before. "What are you demanded?" When she didn't answer, he shifted his look to his mother, standing with her hands on her hips and a downright infuriated look on her face. "What is she doing?!"

"She says she's leaving," his mother snapped in a tone that indicated her opinion of said plan.

"Put that down," he ordered, Kendall forgotten for a heartbeat as he darted to the bed and snatched her bag from her hand, holding it out behind him when she grabbed for it. "You fainted, passed out, and would have hit the ground like a bag of bricks if I hadn't caught you."

"I'm fine."

"I've had enough people lie to me in my life, don't add yourself to that list."

She grabbed her bag, and gave a sharp yank, almost succeeding before her twisted his wrist and tightened his hold on the strap, rocking back on his heels. "You need to stay for a few more hours, at least," he insisted, and she made a face that left him confused as to whether he wanted to shake her or hold her. "Red—"

"I was just hungry—"

"Well, that, too—"

"JR!"

"You should stay for a little while longer, sweetie—"

"I'm fine," the redhead insisted, and if he hadn't seen her panic attack earlier, he almost would have believed her. "I'm a big girl! I handled my dad every day and I'm not bothered by some little fainting spell." She gave the bag another yank and he switched tactics, letting his Chandler half flex his claws, snapping. "I need your help with something."

She stilled in her yanking, and he took a moment to think it through before plunging forward, twisting to glance at his mother. "We need to talk," he ordered, and felt a naked relief when she nodded and quickly fled the room, closing the door behind her with a not-quite ominous click. "Jonathon's back in the hospital—" he started, and nearly fell on his ass when she dropped her end of the bag and practically flew at the door. "Wait!" he yelped, and exhaled in relief when she hesitated for a heartbeat, long enough for him to catch her arm and very carefully steer her around. "He's in the mental ward, under Jo's supervision."

"Oh, _God_—"

"Stop," he squawked when she made to run off again, pulling her back from the door enough that he could move in front of her, blocking her off from it. "Apparently Stone found him in the park or something, and he's completely out of it— I grabbed Anita on the way back and she said no one is allowed in there yet—"

"But I'm his sister—"

"Erin, he's not in good shape," and he watched as her heart literally came apart, watched it in her eyes, felt it somehow even though he wasn't touching her. Her body seemed to wilt, sag on the inside and then collapse on the outside, as if someone had flipped a switch deep inside. "Do they… do they think he'll hurt himself?" she finally asked in a small voice and he sighed, shrugging weakly. "I don't know, that's everything Anita told me."

"Oh, God, this is all my fault—"

"No, it's not—"

"You said you needed my help?"

JR stopped, staring at her, completely blindsided by the question, by the sudden shift in the way she stared at him, eyes wide with a friendly kind of worry. "What?" he asked dumbly, and she jerked her head in a vague kind of way, smiling slightly. "You said you needed my help, a few seconds ago—"

"Red—"

"I can help, with whatever it is," she interrupted, and he finally stopped babbling, going still as he looked close and saw how tight she looked, face too empty and voice too steady. "I mean, I can't go see Jon now, but I can help you, right?" she asked, and he swallowed, unnerved and suddenly wanting to touch her, smooth a palm across her skin in a hope she would find some way to anchor herself with it.

"I don't think—"

"Please tell me what I can do to help."

It was the plea under the words that got to him, and he exhaled noisily, aware of how horribly breakable she looked in front of him. But Erin liked Kendall, he knew that, and she loved Chris, and that he knew even more clearly, and just like that, he gave in the final bit. "It's Kendall, she ran off with Ryan and Erica this morning, off to that castle where your brother married Greenlee Smythe before."

"That's where Ryan is?"

"What?"

"He's with her, that's where he's been all day?" she asked, eyes suddenly impossibly wide as she strode up close to him, looking more alive than she had in what felt like months. "Yeah," he assured her and nodded, grinning bitterly. "Useful, isn't he, when he decides to care about someone?"

Erin's answer was only a fragile sort of stare before she turned away, smoothing her hands furiously down the denim of her jeans. "He wasn't taking my calls," she finally told him, looking back at him, arms wrapped around her middle in a childlike sort of helplessness. "I've been leaving him text messages, and voice mails and—"

"Erin—"

"We need to go," she announced, grabbing her bag from the bed, and smiling at him with a false brilliance, eyes over bright in the harsh hospital light. "My brother's getting his vows renewed, so I need to be there, and you should be there, too, you're Kendall's best friend." She moved past him, striding out of the room and taking off for the elevator, leaving him to feel the weight of his mother's worried gaze on him.

"JR, she shouldn't leave—"

"I'll take care of her," he muttered, and took off after her, already digging out his car keys.

JR doubted anyone could stop Erin with that horribly raw look of betrayal on her face.

-

_Dear Zach—_

I have stretch marks.

Greenlee should be here, should be counting them and naming them, and she isn't, because you had to get your way, because you had to win and take away her child. She should be here, holding him and loving him and loving me for giving him to her, that was how this was supposed to happen and she's not here, she doesn't love him and she doesn't care about him, and it's your fault.

As much a victim of your stellar parenting as Ethan was.

He won't stop crying.

All night long he cries, and all day long, and he won't shut up, Zach, he won't shut up and I don't want to do this, please don't make me. Erin keeps coming by and he doesn't cry when she's holding him or when Bianca's holding him or anyone else, just me. He won't shut up, he won't be quiet, and my breasts hurt and everybody keeps touching him, all day long.

JR says it'll be fine, he says it'll work itself out but I can't do this, Zach, he won't stop crying.

He won't shut up.

-

Insane.

Hayley loved her firstborn—but he was exhausting, no doubt about it.

Struggling with the carry-on and keeping his hand in hers, she swore violently, gripping her sunglasses in her teeth as she fought them out of the airport. "Stop fighting me, honey," she muttered out for the fifth time, and he gave her a look, trying once again to twist his hand out of hers.

The rest of her possessions, quite a bit of them, were now lost.

Hayley had an insane urge to sic her father on them, knowing that he could make them regret it.

"I'm bored, Mommy!"

"I know—"

"Can we get a milkshake?"

"Not right now, honey."

"Dad would get me one!" he muttered, glaring up at her, and she dropped her eyes, staring down at him with a narrowed gaze. "I'm not dad, baby, and you're not going to get anything by whining." It was said in a pleasant enough tone, but he gave a disgusted sigh, and tried to twist out of her grip again.

Insane, clearly, no doubt about it.

"Stop that!" she snapped, setting her bag by her feet and digging her cell phone out of her purse, passing it to him to hold as she snapped the phone open and furiously dialed her father's number. It rang, and rang, and rang— "I don't think grandpa wants to talk to you," Lorenzo chirped from his place around her waist and she closed her eyes, struggling for patience.

"Grandpa's just busy setting up his next wedding," she sighed brightly, ending that attempt and instead scrolling frantically through her list for JR's number, hoping he might be available. She had known better than to leave early, but she'd been driven by desperation, and here they were, the two of them, essentially stranded in Pine Valley.

"Or maybe grandpa just doesn't like you," Lorenzo muttered, and she glanced down at him, finding him kicking at the concrete under his shoes. "No milkshake," she managed, hating the tiny thrill of panic his verbal barb had ignited in her middle. "I didn't want it, anyway," he snapped back, throwing his head back to glare at her. "Good for you, cause you're not getting it!"

Hayley Vaughn Chandler-Santos, reduced to bickering with her firstborn.

Jesus, what a world!

JR's voicemail met her endeavor, and she exhaled raggedly as she ended that try as well, scanning furiously through her list of numbers for anyone that might be of any help at the moment— Dad, Brooke, JR, Colby couldn't drive yet so she was out of the running, uncle Stuart, aunt Marion, Amanda—

"Hah!" she cackled triumphantly, stabbing the send key, and waiting to hear the younger woman's voice. Her prayers were finally answered when Amanda's perky voice met hers, and she babbled, almost hysterically, "Amanda, Mandy, sweetie, help!" There was an odd silence before a rather wary sounding "hello?" came across the connection.

"Amanda!"

"Hayley?"

"Yes, its Hayley… Ow, Lorenzo, stop it, I need my hand! Look, I need you to pick me up—"

"But you're not supposed to be here yet—"

"I'm at the airport, just up front, come and get me before the wolves get here first!" she babbled on, ignoring Amanda's attempts to rationalize the insanity she was just now getting a taste of. "I mean, we're out here, freezing to death!" she added, hoping to guilt the other woman. "But, it's, like, ninety degrees out, Hayley."

"I'm sleeveless, come save us!"

And she hung up quickly, before Amanda could bug her about where the other two family members were.

-

_Dear Zach—_

Is that what you want, do you want me to beg?

Beg for you to love me, want me, never want to live without me.

Say those things and mean them, never regret them, never take them back, never hesitate to say them, never say them and not mean them. I could, I could go to the casino and get down my hands and knees and beg you to love me, to say the words and never take them back but they'd be a lie.

You don't love me.

You said in the hospital you would fight for me, but you only said it because Ryan was there, didn't you?

I'm just the toy you two fight over.

I went to you, and I thought you would say it, I thought you would want me, and you didn't.

You told me to get out.

You told me to go back home to Ryan.

You don't want me, did you ever, did you ever mean it?

Kane women don't beg, right?

I want to beg, I want you to love me, please love me, please, please till me you never want to live without me.

Please, please, please mean it.

-

"You look like you're about to have a coronary."

Dixie nearly had a stroke, whirling to find Ian behind her, hands out in a hasty gesture for her to calm down. "Sorry, sorry, didn't mean to give you one," he grimaced and she snapped, slapping him on the arm with a heated glare. "Don't do that," she hissed, grabbing his smacked arm and pulling him away from the corner where she was watching Jamie's nervous pacing. "I said I'm sorry."

"It's not too bright to come here in front of Tad's son," she muttered, casting a glance back at where Jamie's attention was taken up with Jonathon Lavery's state in his hospital room. Jamie was still following Tad's previous opinion, that she and Ian had been lovers in Europe. Tad's accusations had been harsh, but she'd kept her mouth shut— Ian had suffered enough and having Tad trying to help him would only do more damage.

"He looks pretty preoccupied."

"Yeah, well… yeah…" she agreed dully, threading fingers through her hair and trying to shrug off the adrenaline he had triggered by sneaking up on her. "He's worried about someone he cares about, that's all," she muttered, and he cocked one eyebrow, tilting his head. "That would be the murderer, right?"

"Yeah," she sighed, closing her eyes, aware of him nodding to himself thoughtfully. "I'll never tire of learning weird things about your family," he finally cracked dryly, and got a forced smile in return. "I don't know what they… are, or if they know, or… what, but, well…" She shook her head, snorting. "Tad would just die over this, really."

"Well, he'll die when he wakes up," he grinned, but he set a palm on her arm, a quiet touch that said more than words could. They were united in their grief, their losses, and they were worn with them, the weight of their sins on their backs. "You're in a good mood," she noted suspiciously, and he grinned again, a brittle but sincere thing with sharp edges. "Got a friend in town—Not that kind of a friend," he snapped, catching her look, adding more quietly, "We all have something in common."

"Something in—" Dixie stopped, going white to the lips as she stepped forward, "Madden?" she whispered, and drew in a hiss of a breath when Ian nodded, smile on his face but eyes cool and hard. He looked like who he was, a dangerous man that Madden had underestimated before his death, a man with motivation.

Ian wanted his daughter back.


End file.
